j^aaa^ 


LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


STRESS  JUDITH 


BY 


FR  ASER-T  YTLE  R 


H  E  NH.Y  HOLT&  Co.  PUBLISHE 


New  York 


s 

all 

of 

the 

fl'oi 

boi 

the 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


vi; 


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in 
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ance,  or  salary,  ho  shall  bu  satisfied  tliat  such  meiubor  or  officer 
lias  returned  all  books  taken  out  of  the  Libnivy  by  him,  and  has 
settled  all  accounts  for  injuring  such  books  or  otherwise. 

Sec.  15.  Books  may  be  taken  from  the  Library  by  the  membera 
of  the  Legislature  and  its  officers  during  the  session  of  the  same, 
and  at  any  time  by  the  Governor  and  the  officers  of  the  Executive 
Department  of  this  State,  who  arc  required  to  keep  their  offices  at 
the^seat  of  government,  the  .Justices  of  the  Supreme  Court,  the 
Attorney-General,  and  tin;  Trustees  of  the  Library. 


tcill  send  their  publicatioius,  poat-paul,  un  receipt  of  the  advertised  pr\>.--. 

t^^To  anyone  scndinj;  address,  Descriptive  <  ircular^ 
xvlll  be  n.rued  a«  olteu  ..»  ll.e  publication  of  new  book« 
Ju»«tftlen. 

25  liKiid  St.,  A^.  )'.  Fchrnary  tO'A.  18^5. 


-"""'■^^■■■*^**^— **^' 


rjfjrr......    ■-■.-~i.^V..V^Jy..»»»»«ri»»MM: 


XT3t^TirTKriiirir¥»«i»mKtTT»»y»-rTr,B;»;yy-ITT»- 


JUST    PUBLISHED. 

AFRICA. 

The    History    of   Exploration   and    Advent^ire    as 
.  given    in    the    leading    authorities    from    Her- 
odotus    to     Livingstone.         By    C.    H.    JONES. 
With    MaiD    and   Illustrations.     Svo.     SS.OO. 

''  This  ha.s  been  compiled  from  the  whole  range  of  Afri'-an  liter- 
atnre,  Livingstone's  last  journals  included.  Each  of  the  leading  ex- 
plorers has  a  chapter,  and  Livingstone  four.  Barth.  Overweg  and 
Richardson.  Andersson,  Du  Chaillu,  liurton  and  Speke.  Grant,  Baker, 
Stanley,  Schweiufiirth,  and  Bartle  Fr<"-rc  are  among  the  explorers 
whose  books  are  summarized  at  length,  and  there  is  also  a  valuable 
chapter  on  Christian  missions  in  Africa."—  iV".  Y.  I'rihune. 

"  A  very  interesting  book,  made  yet  more  attractive  and  useful  by 
many  illustrations. " — Boston  Transcript. 

' '  To  tho.se  who  would  become  acquainted  with  the  complex  ques- 
tion relating  to  the  geography  of  Africa,  the  present  work  may  be 
recommended  as  combining  the  requisites  of  simplicity,  accuracy, 
and  interest.  ,  .  .  Oue  of  the  books  of  the  sea.son.  and,  unlike 
most  of  the  current  literature,  will  remain  a  work  of  i)erpetual 
vabie." — Boston.  Saturdoy  Eveninfj  Gazette. 

'  ■  A  cyclopedia  of  African  exploration,  and  a  useful  substitute  in 
the  library  for  the  whole  list  of  costly  original  works  on  that  sub- 
ject." —  Boston  A  drprtiser. 

"Nearly  every  intelligent  reader,  especially  when  any  new  book  of 
African  travel  has  attracted  Ids  attention,  desires  to  have  a  distinct 
and  definite  concoption  of  what  has  been  accomplished  and  of  what 
renuiins  to  be  accomplished,  in  the  way  of  discuvery  ;  it  is  impossible, 
for  instance,  for  any  one  to  grasp  the  really  important  facta  in  Dr. 
Schweiufurth's  great  work,  or  in  Livingstone's  recently  published 
'Journals.'  without  knowing  just  how  far  the  discoveries  therein  re- 
corded, supplement  those  of  other  explorers,  and  what  relation  they  bear 
to  the  existing  body  of  geographical  and  ethnograjihical  knowledge. 
To  sni)ply  such  information  is  the  object  <>f  the  jiresent  work.  If  its 
execution  corresponds  with  its  jilan,  the  reader  will  find  here  a  record 
of  exjilorations  in  Africa  form  the  time  of  the  Phceuicians  to  the  death 
of  Livingstone,  comprehensive  enough  to  put  him  in  possession  of  all 
the  essential  facts  and  successive  steps  in  the  opening  of  that  mysterious 
continent,  and  at  the  same  time  detailed  enough  to  give  him  a  fair  con- 
ception of  the  work  performed  by  each  of  the  more  prominent  indi- 
vidual explorers.  " — Preface. 

"This  volume  contains  the  quintessence  of  a  whole  library.  •  *  *  * 
What  makes  it  peculiarly  valuable  is  its  combination  of  so  nuich  material 
which  is  iuacces.sible  to  the  general  reader,  who  is  put  in  possession,  by 
this  means,  of  a  vast  amount  of  entertaining  as  well  as  instructive  infor- 
mation. The  excellent  map,  showing  the  routes  of  the  leading  explor- 
ers, and  the  numerous  illustrations,  increase  the  value  and  interest  of 
the  book. " — Boston  Ulohe. 

"As  a  survey  of  the  whole  .subject  of  African  travel  and  exploration 
the  ])ook  is  invaluable,  and  as  such  wc  commend  it  to  all  such  as 
desire  to  become  better  accpiainted  with  one  of  the  most  interesting 
themes  of  the  age." — New  llaceu  Palladia m. 


JtaiJmXTJCXyXKXU'X»JJKJI»TliamiTUl  tit\  ri  mrTTTnr*  ■  i  *-i  jyrt\.taixx. 


LEISURE    HOUR    SERIES 


MISTRESS    JUDITH 


A    CAMBRIDGESHIRE    STORY 


BY 


C.    C.     FRASER-TYTLER 

AL'THOR    OH    "JASMINE   LEIGH,"    ETC. 


NEW   YORK 
HENRY   HOLT   AND    COMPANY 

1875 


John  F.  Trow  &  Son,  Printbrs, 
ao5-2i2  East  i2TH  St.,  Nbw  Yokk. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP. 

I.   MASTER   HURST,        .... 
II.   PARSON   INGRFY  WALKS   ABROAD,  , 

III.  MISTRESS  JUDITH    IS   NOT  MOULDED, 

IV.  "there's   A   BOY,"  .... 
V.   MISTRESS  JUDITH   IS   NOT   SHAMED, 

VI.   MISTRESS  JUDITH   HAS   NO   BIRTHDAV, 
VII.    EIGHT  YEARS  AFTER, 
VIII.   %VHY  JESSE   CHANGED   HIS   MIND, 
IX.   UNDER  THE   PORCH   WITH   AiMOS^ 
X.   JESSE   BULLEN'S   LETTERj 
XI.   ANOTHER   LETTER,   . 
XII.   HASLINGTON   FEAST, 

XIII.  HARVESTING,     . 

XIV.  GLEANING, 
XV.    CHURCH,    . 

XVL   FIRST  IMPRESSIONS, 
XVII.   AMOS   STRIKES, 
XVIII.   GOOD-BYE  AND   NO  GOOD-BYE^ 
XIX.    PERPLEXITY,   AND   PAXTON    DICK, 


^'s    jtf-^  <r-^  ^"^     /l^.    j^'V 


VI  u 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXH. 

XXUI. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXI V. 

XXXV  J  I. 

xxxviji. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 
XLl. 


the  letter  that  went  to  amos, 
"the  gloaming  ok  the  year" 

PARSON   INGREY'S   PROMISE, 

ajMos  is  coming, 
a  christmas  secret, 
st.  valentine's  day, 
vl^aiting  for  tidings, 
gentleman  bullen  come 


MID-HEAVEN, 
PRIMkOSE-SPINNEV,      . 
SOMETHING    FOR   AMOS, 
"the    LOVE-LIGHT   IN    HIS 
SHADOWS,      • 
JESSE'S  TROUBLES, 
THE   CLOUDING   OF   THE   Si' 
HARVESITNG    AGAIN,     . 
MASTER   HURST   GOES, 
THE    LI.OW   FALLS, 
HOW  THE   "  BLEE"   WEN  r, 
"■IIN-KETI'LING," 
A   HOME-COMING, 
THE   END,      . 


S    HOME, 


ICS'L, 


CHAPTER  I. 

MASTER     HURST. 

I  DON'T  think  you  'li  live  very  long,  Master 
Hurst ;  do  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  so  neither,  my  dear." 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  '11  do  when  you  go,  Master 
Hurst.  They'll  take  you  away  and  put  you  in  a 
bury-hole,  and  then  God  '11  take  you  up  to  Heaven, 
— if  you're  d.  good  man,  Master  Hurst.  Are  you  a 
good  man,  dear  Master  Hurst .''" 

"  I  bean't  a  good  man,  my  dear  ;  not  I.  I  done 
a  many  bad  things  in  my  day,  I  have.  But  the 
Lord 's  wery  kind,  my  dear,  that  He  is.  The 
wicked  'Un,  he  comes  a-wanting  of  me  and  a- 
telling  of  me  to  follow  him.  But,  No,  no,  says  I ; 
•I  bean't  a-going  to  foller  you,  says  I.  And  then  I 
prays,  I  does.  O  yes,  I  prays,  my  dear.  But  the 
bad 'Un,  he's  a  sharp 'un  ;  he'll  come  again,  tempt 
'un  away,  put  a  thought  in  o'  his  own.  '  Look 
at  the   cabbages  !'   says   he.      '  Look   out   for  your 


2  MASTER     HURST. 

missus!'  says  he.  Anything  as '11  take  me  away 
from  summut  good,  you  see."  And  Master  Hurst, 
moving  his  swollen  foot  and  leg  with  both  hands, 
and  fixing  his  eyes  upon  it,  went  on  shaking  his 
head,  and  muttering,  "  O  yes,  he  do !  O  yes,  he 
do,  my  dear!"  while  the  child  beside  him  listened 
with  open  eyes,  and  both  hands  rolled  in  her 
pinafore  behind  her  back. 

It  is  a  cottage  garden  in  which  they  are  stand- 
ing. The  village  is  thin  and  straggling,  on  either 
side  a  broad  high  road.  About  its  beauty  people 
must  judge  for  themselves.  A  crown  of  swaying 
poplars,  seen  for  many  a  mile  round,  mark  out 
the  village  from  its  neighbours :  there  is  a  slight 
undulation  (to  the  left  as  you  enter),  upon  which 
stands  the  village  church.  A  little  to  the  left  of 
that,  but  closer  to  the  road,  you  may  see  a  thatched 
and  gabled  house,  a  little  larger  than  those  around 
it.  It  is  enclosed  in  its  own  garden  by  a  hedge  of 
privet  and  a  wicket-gate. 

The  cottage  and  garden,  which  have  been  the 
property  of  Master  Hurst  and  his  father  for  a 
hundred  years  and  more,  arc  just  opposite  this 
larger  house.  The  little  wicket-gate  is  standing 
open,  and  out  of  it  Master  Hurst's  visitor  has 
come. 


MASTER     HURST.  3 

She    is    well    used    to    the    short    crossing   on    the 

dusty  road,  this  quiet  little  maiden  of  five  summers. 

Cold   and   wet,   shower  or  sun,   she    trips   it    lightly 

,  to  and  fro,   carrying   sunshine,   leaving  sunshine,   be 

the  weather  what  it  will. 

Mistress  Hurst  goes  out  to  do  odd  jobs  for  the 
neighbours.  To  use  her  own  words,  she  "  'arns  a 
livin'  's  best  she  may."  She  is  "  al'ays  straightfor- 
ward," and  "  does  her  duty,"  and  people  has  a 
"  kind  o'  respeck  for  her,  you  see,  which  she  don't 
deny." 

She  is  a  good  deal  younger  than  her  husband, 
though  full  fifty  now ;  but  what  oppresses  her 
more  than  the  disparity  in  years  is  the  difference 
between  her  own  and  her  husband's  moral  and 
religious  status. 

"Al'ays"  doing  her  duty  —  letting  certain  old 
debts  of  poor  neighbours  stand  over  —  being 
sti'aisfhtforward  —  'arnincr  her  livin'  —  reading  a 
chapter  every  day — no  wonder  Mistress  Hurst  not 
only  fills  the  hearts  of  her  neighbours  with  respect, 
but  her  own  with  a  large  allowance  of  self-appro- 
bation and  esteem. 

Only  she  should  hide  it  more  gracefully  from 
her  weaker  partner. 

"  I  ain't  a-going  to  deceive  you,   nor  uo  one,  my 


4  MASTER    HURST. 

dear,"  she  "says,  when  the  child-visitor  pHes  her 
again  with  the  oft-repeated  question  whether  Master 
Hurst  is  a  good  man.  "  There's  Master  Hurst, 
he  is — he  done  a  many  wrong  things  in 's  day,  he 
has — he 's  displeased  th'  Almoighty  many  times, 
he  has." 

"  But  God  'II  forgive  him,  v/on't  He,  Mrs.  Hurst  ?" 

"  Well,  there — you  see  I  doan't  know,  I'm  sure, 
my  dear,  as  how  about  that — he  's  done  a 
many " 

"  But  ^God  '11  forgive  Master  Hurst,  if  he  asks 
Him,  won't  He.''" 

"  O   yes,   my  dear." 

"  Well,  then,  he  shotild  ask  Him,"  said  the  child 
emphatically,  as  she  hurried  away. 

And  Master  Hurst  shook  his  old  head,  with  a 
smile  on  his  mouth  and  a  tear  in  his  eye,  at 
the  wonderful  sayings  of  his  child-teacher. 

This  child-teacher  is  little  Mistress  Judith 
Ingrey,  aged  five  years.  And  she  is  the  Parson's 
only  child.  She  has  lost  her  mother  long  ago, 
before  she  had  even  opened  those  large  blue  eyes, 
turned  now  so  curiously  on  her  whitehaired  scholar. 
She  is  growing  up  "  an)-how,"  as  it  were,  without 
teaching  or  training.  Half  her  days  she  spends  at 
old  Hurst's  cottage,  half  her  days  she  sleeps  snugly 


MASTER    HURST.  5 

in  a  crib  at  home.  Even  when  her  "  Good  night, 
dear  Master  Hurst!"  in  sweet  childish  tones,  has 
rung  through  the  rafters,  even  when  the  old 
trembhng  hand  has  been  hfted  from  its  evening 
blessing  of  the  silky  head,  sun-bonneted,  and  raised 
with  pouting  lips  to  his  face  —  even  then  Mistress 
Judith  has  not  taken  her  last  farewell. 

For  not  many  minutes  after  the  patter  of  little 
feet  across  the  road  has  passed,  a  child's  voice 
comes  musically  nearer  and  nearer.  It  mounts 
as  if  it  were  going  heavenward,  it  falls  and  rises 
as  if  the  stair  of  heaven  wound  circling  up  to 
God. 

Now  it  comes  nearer  surely.  The  lattice  in  the 
gabled  end  opens.  The  little  head,  without  the  sun- 
bonnet,  looks  out.  A  shock  of  hair,  fired  by  the 
sunset,  crowns  her  like  an  aureole. 

"  Good  night.  Master  Hurst!"  calls  the  same  voice 
we  know,  only  grown  shriller  by  the  distance. 

"  Good  night,  little  mistress,  my  dear,"  answers  a 
quavering  echo  across  the  way,  and  a  silver  aureole 
vies  with  the  golden. 

He  sees  a  little  white-robed  figure,  framed  in  by 
the  lattice,  and  the  dark  room  behind  her,  a  pair 
of  dimpled  hands  resting  on  the  window-sill,  a  pink 
foot  coming  gingerly  out   beside  them,   while  their 


6  MASTER    HURST. 

owner  glances   slyly  over  her  shoulder  to  see  how 
far  she  may,  and  dare. 

The  foot  has  just  touched  the  stone  below  the 
window,  and  the  little  toes,  like  so  many  sensitive 
plants,  curl  up  because  the  thatch  has  touched 
them.  A  cry  of  triumph  is  on  her  lips  when  — 
(Master  Hurst  is  prepared  for  it,  but  we  are  not) 
another  cry,  and  not  of  triumph — a  sudden  snatch, 
a  sudden  disappearance  of  child  and  night-gown, 
a  sudden  bang  of  the  lattice-window. 

It  is  a  short  sharp  cry  of  disappointment  that 
we  hear.  We  all  know  the  cry  or  the  fate  that 
prompts  it. 

Would  to  God  we  all  knew  the  sweet  deep 
sleep  that  hushed  that  cry  upon  the  pouting  lips  of 
Mistress  Judith  Ingrey  ! 

•  •*••* 

Morning  after  morning,  in  the  quiet  village  of 
Haslington,  broke  upon  the  rosy  face  of  the  little 
girl,  laid  on  its  snow-white  pillow.  Morning  after 
morning,  rubbing  her  sleepy  blue  eyes  with  her  fists, 
she  turned,  half-awake  half-dreaming,  to  the  old 
servant  Ruth,  who  stood  beside  her,  and  asked  — 
"Is  Master  Hurst  come  out,   Ruth?" 

"  Eh!  eh!  what  hast  to  do  with  Master  Hurst  for  ever 
and  a  day  .-*     Come  and  see  for  th'self  at  'e  window." 


MASTER    HURST.  7 

And  then  she  was  carried  to  the  broad  window- 
seat,  where,  leaning  out  upon  her  dimpled  hands, 
she  cried  shrilly — 

"  Good  morning,  dear  Master  Hurst  ?  Is  the 
nxustard  come  up  yet?" 

"  No,  no,  mistress." 

"  Is  the  bees  making  honey  yet  ?" 

"  Ay,  this  hour  past.  If  Ruth  '11  let  thee  come 
over " 

"  Ruth  '11  not  let  her— not  this  half  hour."  And 
the  stout  country  woman  scrubbed  the  sponge  round 
tlie  child's  face,  closing  up  the  blue  eyes,  and 
twitched  on  the  clothes  that  lay  in  a  heap  beside 
her,  with  more  zeal  and  hardihood  than  her  pro- 
mise of  not  letting  her  go  for  half  an  hour  seemed 
to  render  necessary. 

Meantime  Master  Hurst  would  totter  to  and  fro, 
till  his  "  missus "  had  prepared  his  breakfast. 

Just  as  they  were  seated  a  gentle  rap-tap  would 
come  at  the  door. 

"Please  open  the  door!   it's  Mistress  Judith!" 

"Bless  her  soul,  so  I  will!"  And  while  Master 
Hurst's  face  broke  out  into  a  tender  smile  of  wel- 
come, his  wife  would  bustle  to  the  rickety  door, 
and  show  in  the  dainty  visitor. 

"She's  a  young  companion  for  you,  friend,"  said 


8  MASTER    HURST. 

Parson  Ingrey  one  day,  smiling  gravely,  as  he 
peered  into  the  lines  of  a  faded  sampler,  framec 
and  hung  over  the  mantel-shelf. 

"  Rhoda  Collis,  her  work,  June  1849,"  he  read 
out  musingly.     "And  who  is  that.   Hurst.''" 

The  old  man's  lip  quivered,  and  he  raised  his 
eyes,  that  had  something  of  the  eagle,  but  a  blind 
eagle,  about  them,  to  the  Parson's  face. 

"  'Ee  dostn't  remember  my  darter,  Parson  ?  Her 
as  Bill  Collis  married  and  tooked  away  tu  years 
since  .^  and  the  Lord  took  twelve  months  since?" 

"  Ah  !  ay !  I  remember.  She  left  a  child,  didn't 
she  ?" 

Mistress  Hurst  began  to  whimper,  and  Parson 
Ingrey,  who  had  an  innate  dislike  to  tears,  hoped 
to  check  them  by  leading  her  mind  to  the  child 
who  had  been  left  behind  when  the  mother  went 
that  way  so  many  mothers  travel,  when  Hie  has 
just  seemed  to  open  out  for  them  its  sweetest  and 
its  best. 

"  Yes,  ye  see,  sir,  it  were  the  Lord's  will ;  but  it 
came  very  hard,  it  did.  And  the  good  marriage 
that  she  made,  sir — she  had  a  kierpet  in 'er  bed- 
room and  all."  Mistress  Hurst  had  a  fresh  access 
of  weeping ;  and  then  drying  her  tears  suddenly,  she 
continued, — "And    the   many   as   came   to    see   her 


MASTER    HURST  9 

when  she  were  a  corp !  The  beautiful  corp  she 
made  when  she  were  laid  out,  all  straight  and  nice, 
ye  see;  and  beautiful  linen  sheets,  and  all.  O  dear! 
it  were  the  Lord's  will,  ye  see,  sir." 

The  Parson  had  turned  to  the  old  man. 

"He  knew  best.   Hurst,  eh?" 

"  That 's  what  I  'm  al'ays  a-telling  of  him,  sir,  ye 
see.  I  'm  sure  I  reads  to  him  of  a  evening,  and  I 
tells  him  as  how  he  must  repent,  and  the  conse- 
kences  of  sin,  ye  see — and  all,  ye  see.  But  he 
doan't  never  say  nothink,  ye  see.  I  never  seen  him, 
— there !  I  ain't  a-going  for  to  deceive  you,  sir, — 
I  never  seen  him  say's  prayers,  not  I— he  never 
say  nothink  to  me.  He  says,  I  doan't  know  what 
he  thinks  ;  but,  says  I,  sir,  I  doan't  believe  as  heow 
a  man  can  be  a  Christian  and  not  dissolve  on't!" 

"  But  you  pray.  Hurst  .''"  said  Parson  Ingrey, 
kindly. 

"Ay,  sir,  ay!  since  many  a  year!" 


CHAPTER    II. 

PARSON    INGREY   WALKS   ABROAD. 


'^  I  ^HE  thought  that  had  crossed  Parson  Ingrey's 
.  X  brain,  as  he  stood  at  Master  Hurst's  fireside, 
came  back  to  him  as  he  took  his  way  through  the 
wicket-gate  and  the  hedge  of  onions  gone  to  seed. 

He  was  a  studious,  absent  man,  with  iron-grey 
hair  and  a  pair  of  keen  dark  eyes  that  had  all  idea 
of  sharpness  taken  from  them  by  the  gentle  tender 
honesty  and  good-will  to  all  men  that  lay  behind. 
His  books  kept  his  mind  large  and  healthy  in  the 
narrow  circle  of  that  primitive  village  world.  His 
life,  the  love  of  his  little  daughter,  and  the  affection 
of  his  people,  kept  his  heart  large  and  warm  too. 

And  yet  he  was  far  from  being  a  model  parish 
priest.  He  seldom  or  never  visited  his  flock.  If 
they  sent  for  him,  he  closed  his  book  forthwith, 
took  up  his  hat  and  stick,  and,  first  looking  round 
the  garden  to  sec  that  Judith  was  there,  and  safe, 
he  walked   off,  thinking  all   the  way   of  the   Cicero 


PARSON    INGREY    WALKS    ABROAD.  11 

or  the  Horace   he    had    left,   and    arrived  cahn   and 
kind  and  distracted  at  his  destination. 

A  vacant  "Ah!"  was  generally  the  first  sign  of 
consciousness.  Then  came  the  necessary  explana- 
tion from  the  wife  or  sister  or  husband  as  to  who 
the  invalid  was,  where  he  or  she  had  worked,  how 
he  or  she  had  fallen  ill,  when  Parson  had  last  seen 
him  or  her,  and  so  forth. 

"  Her  as  you  see'd  last  month,  Parson,  if  ye 
please,  sir,  when  ye  was  kind  enow  to  promise  a 
drop  of  brandy." 

"Ah!" — long  and  slov/.  "And  you  liked  the 
brandy,  my  good  friend  ? "  laying  his  hand  on  the 
sick  woman's  shoulder. 

"  Please,  Parson,  beg  your  pardon,  I  'm  sure,  sir ; 
but  I  think  as  heow  it  passed  your  mem'ry,  sir." 

"  Ah  !  dear  me — indeed.  Well,  send  for  it  to- 
morrow—  and,  and — send  the  name  too — I  haven't 
got  a  good  memory." 

"  She 's  been  sewing,  and  sichlike  for  Mistress 
Bullcn,"  continued  the  sister  of  the  invalid,  with 
as  much  minuteness  and  garrulity  as  if  it  did  not 
all  go  through  one  ear  (and  the  Parson's  were  big 
ones)  and  out  of  the  other.  "  'And,  oh  !  '  says  she, 
'  I  has  sich  a  pain  right  across  here,  it  do  seem  to  lay,' 
sa}'s  she,  'just  right   across  her  el"   and   the  speaker 


12  ■'  PARSON     INGREY 

suited  the  action  to  the  word.  "And,  says  I,  'It's 
rheumatiz,  my  dear,'  says  I.  '  No,'  says  she,  '  it 
ain't — it  ain't  a  right  sort  of  rheumatiz,  nohow  ! '  " 

Here  the  invahd  broke  in,  cheering  up  at  the 
story  of  her  woes. 

"  It  ain't  rheumatiz,  I  knows,  because  that  'as 
szvdling—\\.  's  rheumatics,  that 's  wliat  it  is." 

"Seen  the  Doctor,  eh?."  which  by  the  way  was  a 
query  that  made  up  the  greater  part  of  the  Par- 
son's comfort  and  conversation  at  such  times. 

"  O  yes,  sir ! "  in  a  tone  of  gentle  reproachful 
despair,  for  it  was  thp  sixth  time  of  asking. 
"  Doctor,  he  says,  he  hopes  it  won't  be  as  heow 
it  was  tu  months  ago,  he  says,  because  that  was 
arfiil,  he  says.  He  give  her  some  medicine,  he  did, 
as  set  her  up  a  bit.  And,  says  he,  'You  must 
nourish  all  you  ken ' — he  says,  '  you  must  take  all 
you  ken  git,  he  says.' " 

But  hints  fell  short  of  their  aim,  and  the  most 
lively  details  were  all  in  vain.  Parson  Ingrey  was 
as  deaf  to  his  parishioners'  long  stories — as  soon  as 
the  broad  facts  of  health  or  ill-health,  right  or 
wrong,  had  been  laid  before  him — as  was  Master 
Hurst  to  the  "  consekences  of  sin  "  as  laid  down  to 
him  by  his  wife.  It  was  many  weeks  since  the 
slouch  hat  had  touched  the  low  doorway  of  Hurst's 


WALKS    ABROAD.  13 

cottage,  and  it  would  be  many  weeks  before  it 
touched  again.  Never  did  man  buy  popularity 
cheaper  than  Parson  Ingrey ;  and  he  was  popular, 
with  but  one  exception,  all  the  village  through. 

If  he  came  seldom,  it  was  all  the  better,  and  the 
cheerier,  to  see  him  when  he  came.  If  he  spoke 
little,  and  gazed  abstractedly  through  long-winded 
explanations,  making  an  irrelevant  remark  at  their 
conclusion — a  remark,  when  it  did  chance  to  be  to 
the  purpose,  was  all  the  more  prized  and  precious. 
"Parson,  he  says" — why,  that  was  conclusive,  de- 
cisive, unanswerable.  What  Parson  said  must  be 
true,  right,  infallible. 

And  now  a  thought  we  have  spoken  of  is  clinging 
to  the  mind  of  this  absent  Parson.  It  is  not  of 
Plorace  or  Virgil  or  Cicero — certainly  it  is  not  of 
rheumatiz  or  rheumatics  (he  has  sighed  over  that, 
and  forgotten  it  in  the  sigh).  It  is  not  altogether 
of  Master  Hurst,  and  yet  the  sight  of  him  awoke 
it.  Judith,  his  little  Judith — she  went  there  every 
day,  did  she }  Ah  !  ah  ! — well  it  might  be  a  good 
thing,  no  doubt  it  was  a  good  thing  for  them  both. 
Ikit  Master  Hurst  was  an  old  man  now.  Was  it 
good  for  the  child  to  be  so  constantly  with  an 
old  person .?  to  have  no  other  companion  than  a 
man  of  seventy  at  six  years  old .'' 


14  PARSON    INGREY 

The  Parson  stood  still.  He  looked  north,  he 
looked  south,  he  looked  east  and  west.  Lastly,  he 
looked  at  the  church  steeple.  It  was  not  sugges- 
tive. It  did  not  help  him.  For  a  moment  he  wished 
he  had  a  good  memory.  Then  he  made  use  of  such 
faculties  as  he  had — his  legs — and  turned  back  to 
Master  Hurst's  cottage. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  pausing  and  trying  to  recollect 
what  he  had  called  for — "Ah!— you  know  Trotter's 
End,   Mrs.   Hurst.?" 

"Ay,  sir!  Mistress  Bullen's,  sir,"  slicing  off  shreds 
of  onions  into  a  pan 

That  was  just  what  he  wanted  to  know.  He 
had  forgotten  the  name,  and  was  ashamed  to  ask. 

"Ah!  just  so.  And  can  you  tell  me — has  Mrs. 
Bullen   any   family.?" 

"  Lor',  sir !  why  yes  to  be  sure,  sir.  Two  fine 
young  lads,  sir.  Amos,  as  sings  in  the  choir,  sir, 
and  Jesse,  the  bigger  'un,  as  sits  by  's  mother  o' 
Sunday  in  the  big  pew  ;  but  a'  Christmas  and  sich 
times  he  mostly  sit " 

But  the  onions  flopping  gingerly  one  by  one  into 
the  pan  was  Mrs.  Hurst's  only  answer.  Parson 
Ingrey  was  on  his  way  to  Trotter's  End, 

It  was  fully  half  a  mile  from  one  extreme  of  the 
village  to  the   other,    and  the    Parson    and    Mistress 


WALKS    ABROAD.  15 

Bullen  were  the  sentinels  at  either  end.  It  \vas  a 
long  way  for  a  man  with  a  bad  memory  to  keep 
his  errand  in  safe  custody  within  it  all  the  time. 
>  But  he  stuck  to  it  bravely,  and  rang  the  bell  com- 
posedly, and  asked  unerringly  if  Mistress  Bullen 
were  at  home. 

The  maid,  who  had  never  before  been  so  close 
to  so  great  a  personage  as  the  Parson,  took  to 
her  heels  (which  by  the  way  were  blushingly 
exposed,  as  she  floundered  along,  for  the  space  of 
two  half-crowns  above  the  crushed  and  flapping 
shoe),  and  returning  in  a  moment  gasping  and  flus- 
tered, motioned  the  visitor  to  a  little  parlour, 
looking  out  into  a  flower-garden. 

By  this  time  all  Haslington  knew  that  the  Parson 
was  calling  on  Mistress  Bullen.  All  Haslington 
stood  at  its  doors  talking  and  wondering.  And 
when  half  an  hour  had  passed,  and  the  Parson  had 
not  returned,  Haslington  pricked  its  ears,  and 
began  to  conjecture,  as  well  as  to  wonder.  The 
Parson  had  not  been  seen  at  Trotter's  End  within 
the  memory  of  man. 

In  the  meantime  the  great  sun  sloped  slowly 
into  the  v/cst.  Over  that  flat  Cambridgeshire 
country  his  rising  and  his  fall  have  something  that 
is  peculiar   to  the  place  :    nothing   breaks  upon   his 


l6  PARSON    INGREY 

great  disk,  until  a  weird  pollard  stands  out  black 
and  gaunt  upon  the  glow,  and  a  sluggish  stream 
lying  alongside  the  pollard  catches  the  gold  light 
upon  its  lazy  bosom — and  villagers  watch  the  fire- 
ball touch  the  horizon,  descend,  descend,  till  half  is 
gone — till  all  but  a  golden  rim  is  gone — till  only  the 
message  shot  up  into  the  illumined  heavens  remains 
behind.  It  is  like  a  sunset  or  a  sunrise  at  sea  in 
part :  only  that  there  is  an  unbroken  calmness  here, 
that  white -crested,  dancing,  restless  waves,  and 
twinkling  shimmering  paths  of  light  forbid  on  that 
ocean  of  which  Jeremiah  says  that  it  hath  sorrow, 
and  so  cannot  rest. 

There  was  a  bridge  leading  to  Mistress  Bullen's 
farm,  over  just  such  a  sluggish  waveless  stream  as 
the  sun  loves  to  look  into.  The  bridge,  arched,  and 
covered  with  ivy,  that  trailed  from  it  and  dipped 
down  to  the  water  here  and  there  in  great  tangled 
wreaths,  leads  on  to  a  cosy  old-fashioned  farm, 
ivy-covered  like  the  bridge,  but  unlike  the  bridge, 
decked  out  with  tumbled  tea-roses,  hanging  their 
heads  under  the  weight  of  their  own  beauty,  and 
"  travellers'  joy,"  that  had  crept  along  the  bridge 
witiiin  reach  of  the  mistress's  hands,  who  had 
caught  it,  and  kept  it,  and  nailed  it  up  the  sunny 
wall,  where  Jesse  and  Amos,  or  their  clothes,  had 


WALKS    ARROAD.  17 

their  share  in  holding  them  :  for  there  sure  enough 
were  snips  of  Amos's  Sunday  best  fixing  up  a  bud 
that  was  opening  its  deep  apricot  glories  to  the  sun  : 
like  a  girl  at  her  first  party,  "coming  out"  when  she 
ought  to  be  going  to  bed. 

At  any  rate  the  sun  thought  so,  for  just  as  the 
Parson  and  Mrs.  Bullen  stood  looking  at  it,  when 
the  visit  was  over,  day  died,  and  gave  not  another 
twinkle  of  encouragement  to  the  debutante. 

Mistress  Bullen  had  followed  the  Parson  to  the 
gate  across  the  bridge.  There  was  a  swan  sailing 
placidly  along  among  the  weeds  from  which  the 
glints  of  sunlight  were  shifting  and  waning. 

"  Your  little  daughter  would  like  to  feed  the 
swan,  sir,"  said  Mistress  Bullen  in  a  voice  that 
betrayed  the  mother. 

"Ah!  so  she  would.  Thank  you.  Then  you'll 
send  down  the  boy  to  see  me  to-morrow,  Mrs. 
Bullen — about  twelve,  and  " — the  Parson  hesitated 
— "just  tell  him  to  mention  his  name,  and — and 
what  he  came  for.  I  have  not  a  very  good  memory, 
unfortunately." 

And  then  they  shook  hands  across  the  little  gate, 
and  Mistress  Bullen  went  back  slowly  along  the 
gravel  walk,  thinking. 


CHAPTER    III. 

MISTRESS   JUDITH   IS   NOT   MOULDED. 

"  ^  A  /"^LL,  little  man,  and  who  are  you.-"'  was 
V  V  the  Parson's  inquiry,  as  at  twelve  o'clock 
precisely  a  rap  came  at  his  study  door,  and  Ruth 
ushered  in  a  well-groomed  good-looking  boy,  who 
stood  cap  in  hand  before  his  host. 

Love,  it  is  said,  teaches  deceit  even  to  innocence. 
So  does  a  bad  memory.  Mr.  Ingrey,  roused  sud- 
denly in  the  middle  of  Plato's  Republic,  could  not 
for  the  life  of  him  recollect  to  what  event  he  owed 
this  unlooked-for  intrusion.  But  he  was  shy  as  well 
as  simple,  and  when  Jesse  Bullen,  mistaking  his 
"  who  "  for  "  how,"  rejoined  "  Quite  well,  thank  you, 
sir,"  and  stood  waiting  for  further  orders  or  observa- 
tions, the  Parson  shuffled  meanly  out  of  the  dilemma, 
saying,  "  Sit  down,  sit  down,  my  little  man,  I  shall 
be  with  you  in  one  moment." 

"  Ruth ! "  said  he,  as  soon  as  he  had  carefully 
closed  the  study  door,  "  can  you  tell  me  who  that 
is?" 


MISTRESS    JUDITH    IS    NOT    MOULDED.  I9 

"  Master  Bullen's  boy — him  as  is  dead." 
''Dead — eh?     dead.?"    in    a    tone     of    increased 
perplexity,     but     h"ght     breaking    in     through     the 
chinks. 

"  Him  as  died  five  years  since — that 's  'is  boy." 
"Ah!"  said  the  Parson,  hfting  up  his    eye-brows 
sagaciously;    and,    blowing   his    nose    to    look    as  if 
he  had  gone  for  a  handkerchief,  he  returned  to  the 
study. 

Haslington's  ears  pricked  themselves  yet  higher 
when  an  hour  went  by,  and  Mistress  Bullen's  lad 
was  still  undoubtedly  shut  up  with  the  Parson. 
But  only  the  feminine  ears  were  at  liberty,  and  not 
all  of  them,  at  mid-day.  And  by  evening  a  little  of 
the  marvel  had  spent  itself  among  the  women. 
And  when  day  after  day  Jesse  Bullen — ahvays 
Jesse — walked  with  head  erect  from  Trotter's  End 
to  the  Rectory,  Haslington  became  used  to  the 
phenomenon.  For  very  soon  fact  had  put  its  finger 
on  curiosity;  it  had  become  known  that  Parson  was 
"larnin'  Jesse  Bullen,"  was  "a-goin'  to  make  a 
scholard  on  him."  And  after  that,  larnin'  and  scho- 
lardship  being  unfamiliar  things  in  Haslington,  the 
subject  was  more  or  less  dropped  out  of  the  village 
gossip.  And  master  and  pupil  with  unfailing  regu- 
larity met  and  studied  in  the  dark   begrimed   room 


20  MISTRESS    JUDITH 

Into  which  Ruth's  broom  and  dust-pan  were  not 
suffered  to  enter. 

So  things  went  on  for  fully  a  month,  when  one 
morning,  as  he  stood  by  his  window  deliberately 
dressing  himself,  the  Parson's  brain  received  a  flash 
of  memory.  A  little  sun-bonnet  and  a  childish  voice 
recalled  him  to  himself  and  his  duties  as  a  father. 

Judith  had  hardly  finished  her  breakfast ;  roll 
in  hand  she  was  going  staidly  down  the  garden. 
Bully,  the  house  dog,  just  aroused  from  his  slumber.s, 
following  her  slowly,  as  he  sleepily  wagged  his  tail 
and  yawned.  The  little  hand  went  up  to  the  latch 
of  the  gate  once,  twice,  on  tip-toe.  All  in  vain, 
the  latch  was  beyond  her  reach,  and  Bully  stood 
by,  looking  all  sorts  of  things,  but  doing  nothing. 

The  sun-bonnet  turned  round  again,  and  the  blue 
eyes  looked  wistfully  to  the  door. 

"Ruth!"  cried   the  child. 

No  one  answered,  and  the  cry  was  repeated. 

"  Ruth  ! " 

And  then  a  rough  voice  made  reply — 

"Bother  'ee,  child,  and  Master  Hurst  too — 'bide 
till  I  come,  I  tell  'ee." 

"  How  long  will  you  be  .'* "  asked  the  child. 

"  Till  I's  washed  up  'c  dishes  and  sarved  Master 
Ingrey." 


IS    NOT    MOULDED.  21 

Upon  which  Master  Ingrey,  struck  to  the  heart, 
wiped  his  razor,  and  went  down  in  his  dressing- 
gown  and  shppers,  as  was  his  wont,  to  the  rescue. 

So  this  was  the  way  he  had  looked  after  his 
little  girl,  and  found  companions  for  her !  Here 
she  was,  fully  a  month  after  his  visit  to  Mistress 
Bullen,  trotting  away  to  Master  Hurst,  her  one 
playmate,  and  staid  and  quiet  as  no  little  girl  of 
six  ought  to  be.  And  the  Parson  tried  to  re- 
member what  he  had  done  with  that  playmate 
he  felt  sure  he  Jiad  found  for  her — and  then  he 
remembered,  as  he  looked  out  into  the  road  and 
saw  Jesse  Bullen  coming  towards  him,  what  it  was 
that  had  come  between  Judith  and  her  intended 
mate.  And  he  reproached  himself  an  instant,  and 
opened  the  gate  for  his  little  daughter ;  and  then 
he  forgot — for  there  stood  Jesse,  his  hat  off,  and 
the  open  Delectus  in  his  hand. 

"  What    is    it,     boy  ? "    said    the    Parson    kindly 
laying  his  hand  on  Jesse's  head. 

"  I  was  not  sure  of  this,  sir,  please,"  said  the 
boy. 

"  How  }  what  the  word  means  } " 

"  Oh,  no,  sir  ! "  smiling.  "  I  know  the  word  ; 
only  I  don't  know  as  how  the  accent  falls." 

"  Say   Jiozv,   not   as   hozv,    lad  ; "    and   the    Parson 


22  MISTRESS    JUDITH 

took    the    Delectus     from    the     hand    of    the    boy, 
into  whose  face  the  colour  had  come  suddenly. 
" Asijms — an  ass — is  that  the  word?" 
"  Yes,  sir,  thank  you,  sir — I  was  not  sure  whether 
it  was  Asimis" 

"  Well,    you  're    a    good    lad    to    come    and    ask, 
Jesse,"    said    the    Parson  ;    "  have    you    had    your 
breakfast  ? " 
"Not  yet,  sir." 

"  And  how  long  have  you  been  doing  your 
lesson,  eh  ?" 

"About  an  hour,  sir,  I  think." 
"Good  lad!  you'll  do  well  yet;"  and  the  Parson 
was  more  pleased  than  he  liked  to  show. 

"But  stop  !"  said  he,  as  Jesse  turned  to  go.  And 
then  he  called  for  Judith,  who  was  munching  her 
roll  at  Master  Hurst's  knee,  and  making  his  cordu- 
roys her  breakfast-table. 

Very  loth,  she  came  slowly  and  shyly  back, 
Bully  following. 

"Jesse,"  said  the  Parson,  "have  you  ever  played 
with  a  little  girl  }  " 

The  boy  blushed  again,  and  said,  "  No,  sir — we 
has  no  sister." 

"  'Sh,  'sh  !  /lave,  not  /las,  lad  !  Remember  that. 
Will  you  try  and  play  with  this  one  sometimes  ? " 


IS    NOT    MOULDED.  23 

**  O  yes,  sir," — a  little  hesitatingly,  as  if  the  task 
were  heavier  than  any  in  the  Delectus. 

"Judith,  will  you  play  with  this  boy  here?" 

But  Mistress  Judith's  face  had  disappeared  long 
ago  between  Bully's  silky  ears,  and  one  by  one,  one 
by  one,  sobs  came  that  shook  the  little  crouched 
figure,  and  brought  the  Parson  to  her  side. 

He  did  not  know  quite  how  to  comfort  her,  or 
what  her  trouble  could  be.  He  had  not  that 
"  tender  knack  of  tying  baby  shoes "  that  our  great 
poetess  speaks  of  And,  alas  for  thee,  poor  Mis- 
tress Judith  !  she  who  had  had  it  was  sleeping 
soundly  beyond  the  garden,  in  the  quiet  garden  of 
the  dead. 

"  Was  Ruth  unkind,  little  one  ? "  asked  the 
Parson. 

"  No  ! — no  ! — no  !  "  between  the  sobs. 

"  What  are  you  crying  for,  Judith .''  don't  be  a 
foolish  girl.     Jesse  Bullen  will  never  play  with  you." 

"  Send  him  away  !  send  him  away  ! "  cried  the 
child  through  her  sobs,  kicking  the  little  foot  be- 
hind her  in  her  passion  of  distress  and  temper. 
And  Jesse,  colouring  for  the  third  time  that  day, 
opened  the  gate  and  went  up  the  road  without 
looking  back. 

"Judith!"   said   the    Parson   when    he    had   gone. 


24  MISTRESS    JUDITH 

taking  her  by  the  hand — "come  with  me.  What 
is  this  for,  this  noise  and  crying — eh  ? " 

"  O  father !  father ! "  and  she  clung  about  his 
knees — "I  want,  I  zvant  to  go  to  Master  Hurst!  I 
doiit  want  that  boy !  I  doiit  want  that  boy  to 
play  with  me !  I  want  to  go  to  my  dear  "Vlaster 
Hurst!" 

"  And  what  will  you  do  when  you  get  tc  Master 
Hurst  ? " 

"  Sit ! "  very  plaintively,  the  sobs  ceasing,  and  the 
thumb  going  into  her  mouth. 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  See  the  bees/ 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Look  up  the  chimley." 

"And  what  do  you  see  there?" 

"Black  things." 

The  Parson  sighed.  There  were  more  things  in 
heaven  and  earth,  he  thought,  than  were  dreamt  of 
in  his  philosophy. 

"Should  you  like  to  learn  to  read,  Judith?"  he 
asked  presently,  opening  the  gate  at  which  his 
daughter,  quite  aware  that  she  had  won  the  day_. 
stood  waiting. 

"When  I'm  big." 

"  How  big  ? "    with  a  sigh. 


IS    NOT    MOULDED.  2$ 

"  As  old  as  Master  Hurst.  Please  let  me  go, 
father ! "  And  as  he  could  not  resist  a  look  that 
came  into  her  eyes  when  she  pleaded  with  him  so 
— a  look  that  had  won  away  his  heart  years  ago, 
when  another  and  a  sweeter  v/oman  than  Ruth 
was  brought  to  rule  the  house — a  look  that  he  had 
lost  sight  of  till  its  reflected  light  shone  back  on 
him,  as  if  from  heaven,  in  his  child  —  Parson 
Ingrey  let  her  pass  unhindered. 

And  so  failed  his  first  attempt  at  moulding 
Mistress  Judith. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"there's  a  boy." 

O  it  was  no  wonder  that  with  a  good  con- 
k,_J  science  the  Parson  continued  to  monopoHze 
Jesse  Bullen,  nor  that  with  a  regularity  matclied 
only  by  that  of  her  father  and  his  pupil  over  their 
studies,  Mistress  Judith  continued  her  visits  to 
Master  Hurst. 

Had  Ruth  had  more  time  at  her  disposal,  the 
child  would  certainly  have  been  dragged  out  by  the 
wrist  for  walks,  her  hands  shoved  into  those  round 
fingerless  gloves  that  are  the  torment  of  all  chil- 
dren, and  her  sun-bonnet  tied  to  choking,  half 
a  dozen  times  during  the  day.  As  it  was,  Ruth 
had  the  house  to  keep  in  order  after  her  own 
fashion,  the  dinner  to  cook,  the  surplice  to  wash 
— a  thousand  other  important  items,  over  which 
she  grumbled  and  toiled  all  day.  And  Mistress 
Judith,  dressed  and  washed  and  turned  into  the 
garden  after  breakfast,  was  left  to  a  glorious  inde- 
pendence  till    mid-day,  when   she  was  called    in   to 


"there's  a  boy."  27 

have  her  dinner.  The  gloves  were  sewn  stoutly  to 
her  sleeves — she  could  not  part  with  them  ;  but  the 
little  round  fingers  had  no  sooner  been  imprisoned 
than  they  extricated  themselves,  the  sun-bonnet 
went  back  on  her  neck,  the  silk  handkerchief  that 
made  her,  oh !  so  hot,  floated  on  IMaster  Hurst's 
best  gooseberry  bush.  It  was  a  golden  time,  if  she 
could  but  have  known  it.  She  would  never  have 
such  freedom,  mind  or  body,  again. 

All  the  villagers  made  acquaintance  with  her 
there,  drawn  towards  her  and  her  old  companion 
as  they  kept  each  other  company  (and  such  good 
company  they  thought  it)  on  the  wooden  bench 
from  which  Master  Hurst  could  watch  his  bees. 
They  had  all  a  pride  and  an  interest  in  her,  from 
Mistress  Gadd  who  had  "see'd  her  bcwii,  ye  know," 
to  the  little  girls  in  the  first  class  of  the  Sunday 
school  who  had  been  allowed  once  in  a  way,  one 
or  two  of  the  steady  ones,  to  hold  her  hands  when 
first  Mistress  Judith  began  to  kick  out  and  find 
her  feet. 

Lydia  Goats,  in  a  battered  old  brown  hat, 
brought  her  dish  and  peeled  her  potatoes  in  Hurst's 
garden.  Mistress  Charter  plaited  straw  as  she 
leaned  her  elbows  over  the  gate  and  gossiped. 
The    great    lilies    grew,    the    poppies    bloomed    and 


28  "there's  a  boy." 

tumbled  their  petals  over  the  row  of  peas,  the 
patch  of  thyme  fed  the  bees,  and  scented  all  the 
garden,  and  the  bees  themselves  went  booming  up 
and  down,  poaching  in  the  gardens  by,  coming 
home  again,  storing  up  their  sweets,  and  whirling 
round  and  round  their  master  and  his  little  com- 
panion on  the  bench,  under  the  vine  and  the  jes- 
samine. 

And  above  all  the  sweet  scents  and  sounds,  like 
the  clear  rippling  of  water  in  a  quiet  place,  rang  the 
fresh  childish  voice  of  Mistress  Judith.  And  when 
her  little  babble  of  questions  or  her  falling  and  rising 
tones  of  reply  ceased.  Master  Hurst's  voice,  like  a 
tremulous  minor,  filled  the  pause.  And  so  the  hot 
summer  days  passed ;  and  Mistress  Judith  was  sent  off 
later  and  taken  home  earlier;  and  the  few  trees  in 
Haslington  grew  black  and  dense  with  foliage,  and 
the  corn  ripened  and  was  cut,  and  the  air  grew  chilly; 
and  the  Parson  and  Jesse  had  a  fire  now  to  study 
by,  and  Jesse  walked  as  fast  as  he  could — for  Jesse 
never  ran — from  Trotter's  End  to  the  Rectory  and 
back,  and  changed  the  Delectus  from  hand  to  hand 
that  he  might  blow  on  the  other.  And  still  he  did 
not  play  with  Mistress  Judith,  and  still  Mistress 
Judith  went  to  Master  Hurst's:  though  "sitting" 
and    "  looking   at   the  bees "  was   forbidden  by  the 


"there's  a  boy."  29 

snow  that  lay  upon  the  bench  and  on  the  hives, 
there  was  one  amusement  still  left  her,  she  could  still 
look  up  the  "chimley"  and  see  "black  things." 

Oh,  it  was  a  place  that  chimney-corner  in  winter! 
Square  and   wide,  and   the  great   draught  bellowing 
up    the    shaft,    and    the    wood    crackling,    and    the 
sparks  flying    up   into    the    darkness— and    the  little 
stools,  set  on  either  side   so  warm  and  yet  so   safe, 
where  Judith   could    put   her   toes   upon   the  log  till 
the  flame  came  Avithin  an  inch  of  her  red  stockings, 
and  then  tuck  up  her  feet  and  give  them  to  Master 
Hurst  to  feel  how  hot  they  were ;  and  where  the  fire- 
light   danced    upon    the    walls    and    lighted    up    the 
child's  face  while  all  the  room  was  left  in  darkness, 
and  only  that  time-wrinkled  face  that  stooped  over 
the    warmth,    for    Master     Hurst    was    very    chilly, 
caught   a  little   of  the   glow.       And    there   they  sat 
and   talked   together  fitfully,   hoping  the   rap  would 
not  come  just  yet,  not  fior  a  little — hoping  that  the 
kettle  at  home  would   spill,  and  Ruth  have  to  stay 
and  clean   it   up — hoping  all  sorts   of  impossibilities 
every  night,  and  never  failing  to  be  disappointed  in 
all  of  them.     For  as  certain  as  autumn  after  summei 
and   winter  after   autumn,  came  Ruth   trudge,  trud- 
ging  through    the   snow,   whisking  Judith  as    if  she 
were  a  snow-drift,  back  to  tea  and  after  tea  to  bed. 


30  "there's  a  boy." 

One  evening  they  had  sat  so  for  a  Httle,  and 
then  Mistress  Judith,  with  the  fascination  that  the 
serpent  has  for  his  charmer,  or  the  dog  for  the 
master  who  beats  him,  had  run  to  the  window  and 
stood  looking. 

"  There 's  a  boy,"  she  said  meditatingly,  after  a 
silence.     Master  Hurst  did  not  hear. 

"  There 's  a  boy  " — much  louder. 

Master  Hurst  turned  round  and  said, 

"Eh,  little  missus.?" 

The  news  was  repeated  : — 

"There's  a  boy!" 

So  Master  Hurst  tottered  to  the  window  and 
looked  out. 

"Who  be  it.?"  said  he;  "I  think  it  be  Mistress 
Bullen's  lad." 

"  No,  it  isn't"  said  Judith  emphatically,  with  a 
little  indignation  in  her  tone  ;  for  this  "  boy "  evi- 
dently pleased  her  better  than  Jesse. 

"  Boy,  boy ! "  she  begins  calling  shrilly.  And 
then  she  asked  Master  Hurst  to  open  the  door. 
And  through  the  snow,  which  was  not  very  deep, 
she  trotted  till  she  reached  her  father's  gate,  at 
which  a  boy  Avith  a  satchel  was  waiting. 

"  Come  in  !  "  she  said,  catching  him  by  the  sleeve — 
"  poor  boy  !  come  in  and  sec  my  dear  Master  Hurst ! " 


"there's  a  boy."  31 

And  she  dragged  him  along,  while  he  came 
smiling  and  blushing  a  little,  behind  her. 

As  soon  as  he  had  come  in  she  had  nothing 
more  to  say  to  him,  but  retired  to  Master  Hurst's 
knee,  and  stood  'jhyly  looking  at  her  haul. 

"  Surely  you  be  Mistress  BuUen's  young  gen'le- 
man  .?  "  inquired   Hurst. 

"  Yes,  master.     I  be  her  second  son." 

"  And  what  's  your  name,  if  I  may  be  so 
bold?" 

"Amos,"  said  the  boy. 

"Arter  his  father,  bless  him!"  interposed  Mis- 
tress Hurst,  who  came  in  from  the  back  room; 
wiping  her  hands  and  pulling  down  her  sleeves. 

"  And  you  '11  be  nice  company  for  the  little 
missus  here.  Eh,  my  dear .''  will  you  play  with  the 
young  gen'Ieman  .'' " 

Mistress  Judith  sucked  her  thumb. 

"  Will  you  look  in  to-morrer  night,  my  dear 
boy  ? "  Mrs.  Hurst  went  on  kindly :  "  she 's  shy,  is 
the  little  missus.  Doan't  be  ashamed  now,  my 
dear,  to  talk  to  the  nice  dear  boy  !  There  now  ! 
To  be  stn's  he  di^  favour  the  family !  I  could 
have  told  you  anywhere,  I  could,  to  be  Mistress 
Bullen's  boy.  If  you  '11  tell  your  mamma,  my  dear, 
as  heow   I  make   so   bold   as  ax   you  in  to-morrer, 


•^52  "there's  a  boy." 


to  meet  the  little  missus,  I'm  sure  we'll  be  proud 
to  see  you,  my  dear ! " 

Mistress  Judith  still  sucked  her  thumb  and  looked 
up  shyly  under  her  eyelids  at  Amos  Bullen's  face. 
And  it  was  a  hopeful  sign  indeed  that  she  did  not 
lay  her  neck  between  Bully's  ears  and  sob. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  I  ain't  sure  if  I  can  come  to- 
morrow.    I  doan't  go  to  school  every  day." 

"  And     you  're     a-comin'    from     school,    eh,     my 

dear.-*" 

"  Yes,  I  was  waiting  agin  Parson's  gate  for  my 
brother  Jesse." 

"He's  gitting  a  scholard  I  hear,"  said  Mistress 
Hurst.  "  Ain't  you  going  to  git  no  larnin'  from  the 
Parson,  my  dear  .'' " 

"  Please,  ma'am,  I  have  no  learning — Jesse,  he 's 
to  be  a  good  scholar  soon." 

"And  why  won't  you  be  a  scholard,  my  dear.?" 

"  Parson  he  didn't  ask  me,"  said  Amos  gently — 
"  and  I  haven't  time  to  go  to  school  regular." 

"Why  not,  my  dear.?" 

"  Mother  wants  me." 

"And  doan't  mother  like  you  to  larn,  my  dear.?" 

"  Mother  says  I  'm  not  clever — she  saj^s  I  must 
just  learn  to  be  good."  And  A.mos  played  with  the 
buttons  on  his  coat  and  looked  down. 


"there's  a  boy."  33 

"  And  when  you  're  big  you  '11  look  arter  the  farm, 
my  dear  ? " 

"Yes.     I  looks  after  it  a  little  for  mother  now." 

"  And  what  '11  brother  be,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  Mis- 
tress Hurst  inquisitively. 

"  He  says  he  '11  be  a  gentleman." 

"  Boy — my  dear  lad,"  said  Master  Hurst,  joining 
for  the  first  time  in  the  conversation,  and  speaking 
earnestly  as  he  leaned  forward,  his  dimmed  eagle 
eyes  looking  into  Amos'  face — "  them  as  is  gentle 
in  their  ways,  fears  God,  honours  the  king,  minds 
their  business — them  is  gen'lemen.  And  I  pray 
you  '11  be  o'  tJiat  sort,  my  dear — o'  that  sort." 

Mistress  Judith  had  come  round  that  knee  of 
Master  Hurst  that  was  nearest  her  "  boy." 

She  had  a  fellow-feeling  for  one  who  had  got  no 
"learning,"  and  was  to  play  with  horses  and  cows 
all  his  life  instead  of  books ;  one  who  would  wear 
no  gloves,  eat  his  dinner  anyhow,  and  have  no  silk 
handkerchief  tied  round  his  throat. 


CHAPTER   V. 

MISTRESS  JUDITH   IS   NOT   SHAMED. 

AD   though    it    be,  'the    truth    must   out  :     at 
eight  years  old    Mistress  Judith  still    sucked 
her  thumb. 

And  still  she  hob-nobbed  old-fashionedly  Avith 
Master  Hurst,  eat  her  breakfast  on  her  way  there  in 
the  morning,  and  hoped  that  Ruth  would  spill  the 
kettle  just  before  tea-time.  On  the  evening  before 
her  ninth  birthday,  in  fact,  there  were  no  signs  of 
her  becoming  a  rational  and  conventional  little 
girl  —  in  Ruth's  opinion  she  was  as  "  owdacious  as 
iver. 

But  "  audacious"  as  used  by  Ruth  did  not  mean 
boisterous,  or  even  daring.  It  is  difficult  to  say 
what  it  meant,  unless  it  expressed  the  conviction 
lonsr  ao-o  driven  home  to  the  Parson,  that  Mistress 
Judith  required  'moulding,  and  would  not  submit 
to  the  process. 

She  was  gentle  enough  by  nature,  Heaven  knew. 
Parson    Ingrey's    great    difficulty   was   the   extreme 


MISTRESS    JUDITH    IS    NOT    SHAMED.  35 

sensitiveness  of  his  daughter,  who  wept  copiously 
if  he  hinted  at  being  angry  with  her,  and  gave  way 
to  a  perfect  passion  of  tears  if  by  any  chance  a 
sharp   or  harsh  expression  escaped  him. 

It  was  seldom  enough,  for  he  was  a  tender- 
hearted man,  and  hated  tears,  especially  the  tears  of 
little  Judith.  And  then  her  sins  were  so  small,  so 
few  and  far  between  !  So,  like  the  sluggish  streams 
of  Cambridgeshire,  her  little  life  flowed  on,  till  uncon- 
sciously, on  the  eve  of  her  ninth  birthday,  she  herself 
cast  in  the  first  pebble  that  with  others,  from  other 
hands,  was  to  change  a  little  the  monotony  of  the 
course. 

"  Father  !"  said  she,  coming  to  his  knee  as  he  sat 
under  the  medlar  tree  in  his  garden,  and  shoving  the 
great  book  unceremoniously  off  his  lap  on  to  the 
grass,  where  it  lay,  all  the  corners  turned  in,  and 
Bully  wagging  his  tail  and  sniffing  at  it — "  Father  ! 
to-morrow  's  my  birthday — may  I  do  jest  what  I  like, 
father?  eh,  father.?"  nudging  him  out  of  his  day- 
dream. 

"  Pick  up  my  book,  Judith — birthday,  eh  ?  Ah,  so 
it  is — who  told  you  ?  " 

"  Mistress  Hurst  —  Mistress  Hurst  and  Mistress 
Gadd.  And  Mistress  Gadd  see'd  me  born,  father, 
so  she  must  know." 


36  MISTRESS    JUDITH 

" Sce^d  you,  my  dear!  Judith,  dear  child!  —  is 
that  the  way  you  speak  now  ?  What  ought  you 
to  say  ?    come  now  !    Mistress  Gadd  did  what  ? " 

The  thumb  to  the  rescue,  and  the  great  blue 
eyes  clouded.  After  a  pause,  in  which  she  ran 
three  knots  into  the  strings  of  her  sun-bonnet, — 
"  Saw'd  me  barn,"  very  slowly  and  hesitatingly. 

The  Parson  writhed  in  his  straw-chair.  He  did 
not  speak  for  a  moment :  and  Mistress  Judith's 
heart  told  her  the  silence  was  ominous.  In  the 
meantime  he  walked  slowly  up  and  down  the 
walk,  his  slouch  hat  a  little  pushed  back,  his  head 
a  little  inclined  forwards,  and  his  hands  behind 
him.  Judith  was  knotting  her  bonnet  strings,  and 
Bully  stood  cocking  his  ears  at  the  creaking  of  the 
now  empty  straw-chair. 

"  Judith  ! "  said  the  Parson  at  length  gravely — 
''  come  with  me." 

That  grave  voice  was  rare,  though  Mr.  Ingrey 
never  spoke  lightly.  Mistress  Judith,  dreading 
something  and  not  knowing  what,  feeling  guilty 
and  not  knowing  why,  followed  slowly,  thumb  in 
mouth,  and  did  not  offer  to  slip  her  hand  into  her 
father's. 

They  went  silently,  a  downcast  procession, 
through    the    garden ;    the    Parson    in    front,  Judith 


IS    NOT    SHAMED.  l;' 7 

two  yards  behind  him,  Bully  two  yards  behind 
Judith.  It  was  not  till  they  had  reached  the 
churchyard,  and  were  crossing  it,  that  a  sudden 
panic  seized  Mistress  Judith,  and  her  limbs  refused 
to  carry  her  farther. 

"Father!"  she  called  tremulously;  and  he  turned 
round. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  .'' " 

"  Not  to  go  to  school,  father !  Oh,  please,  father, 
don't  let  me  go  to  school,  will  you  t "  And  her 
voice  rose  to  an  agony  of  entreaty,  as  she  clasped 
her  hands  round  his  arm. 

They  were  half-way  across  the  churchyard  ;  al 
the  further  end  was  a  gate,  and  beyond  the  gate 
a  school-house.  It  was  lightly  made  of  wood, 
with  large  latticed  windows,  and  over  the  gable 
and  the  porch  rained  a  profusion  of  honeysuckle 
and  jessamine,  and  Virginian  creeper  still  in  its 
summer  green. 

The  Parson  had  been  making  for  this,  but  upon 
Judith's  wail  of  entreaty  he  stood  still,  and  taking 
her  by  the  hand  he  led  her  to  a  grave  a  little  less 
moss-grown  and  sunken  than  the  rest,  which  lay  in 
the  sunlight  by  the  church  wall. 

"  You  cannot  read  this,  I  suppose  t "  said  the 
Parson,  as  they  stood   before  the  deeply-cut  letters 


38  ^___         MISTRESS    JUDITH 

that  already  showed  signs  of  time  and  rough  usage 
from  the  weather. 

Judith  made  no  answer. 

"  That  is  your  mother's  grave,"  said  he.  "  I  will 
not  read  it  to  you.  Till  you  can  read  it  for  yourself 
you  had  best  leave  it  alone.  At  nine  years  old  she 
knew  as  much  as  I  know  now  ;  and  at  nine  years 
old  her  daughter  cannot  read  the  words  upon  her 
grave-stone."  Here  he  turned  away.  "Judith,  I 
give  you  to-day  to  choose  three  methods  of  making 
up  for  the  time  that  you  have  lost.  Listen  to  me  ; 
here  is  your  choice." 

Mistress  Judith's  heart  was  in  her  mouth,  and 
her  breast  heaved. 

"You  can  do  \'our  lessons  with  me  every  morning 
while  Jesse  Bullen  is  here  ;  you  can  go  to  the  village 
school  ;  or,  you  can  have  a  governess  at  home.  Tell 
me  to-morrow  morning  which  you  have  chosen.  In 
the  meantime  you  will  come  with  me  to  the  village 
school,  where  the  village  scholars  will  shame  you 
into  a  desire  to  learn." 

Poor  Mistress  Judith  !  Never  in  all  her  long  life 
of  eight  years  had  she  felt  so  downcast  and  crest- 
fallen.  To  be  shamed  by  the  village  children — by  all 
the  little  Gadds  and  Whitbys  and  Mulberrys — it  was 
too  hard,  too  humiliating.    But  underneath  the  shame 


IS    NOT    SHAMED,  39 

another  feeling  was  coming  to  birth  :  fast  as  she 
ploughed  along  through  the  rank  grass  of  the  church- 
yard after  her  father  was  the  feeling  ripening.  She 
was  not  being  fairly  treated — this  was  not  just — 
she  had  not  been  taught  as  these  village  children 
had — no  one  had  ever  spoken  seriously  of  learn- 
ing to  her  before.  Now,  on  a  sudden,  her  igno- 
rance was  cast  in  her  teeth,  and  she  felt  that  she 
was  not  wholly  to  blame. 

It  did  not  take  words  or  form,  this  first  rebellion 
against  the  superior  judgment  of  her  father.  It  was 
a  vague  rankling,  a  restless  protest  against  injustice 
rather  than  rebellion  against  him.  The  feeling  was 
spontaneous,  natural,  and  so  true:  no  one  had  spoken 
to  Mistress  Judith  of  justice  or  injustice ;  but  out  of 
her  untrained  little  womanhood,  out  of  her  unguided 
humanity,  burst  out  the  little  flame  of  indignation  at 
wrong  done. 

Silently  brooding,  she  followed  her  father,  and 
they  entered  the  school-house  door. 

There  was  a  buzz  of  movement,  and  a  scraping 
of  forms,  and  a  "  Hish  !  silence  !  slates  down  !  "  from 
Mr.  Cocks,  schoolmaster,  as  the  Parson  entered. 

The  Parson  and  Mr.  Cocks  had  not  met  for  some 
six  weeks  or  so,  and  Mr.  Cocks  was  proportionately 
warm  in  his  greeting  to  the  Parson. 


40  MISTRESS    JUDITH 

"  Very  glad  to  see  you,  sir, — hope  you  're  well, 
sir, — and  the  young  lady,  sir  ! " 

"Ah!"  said  the  Parson  absently,  sitting  down  on 
a  bench,  putting  on  his  glasses,  which  he  only  used 
on  very  rare  occasions,  and  taking  a  slate  out  of 
one  of  the  children's  hands.  He  had  forgotten  to 
say  "  How  d'  ye  do  ?  " 

"  What  class  are  you  taking  now,  Mr.  Cocks  .'* " 
he  asked,  after  an  unbroken  silence  of  some  mo- 
ments. 

"  Arithmetic  at  present,  sir ;  but  what  you  please, 
sir."  And  he  took  out  his  watch.  "  We  have  Bible 
class  next,  sir." 

"  Ah  !  very  well !  Bible  class.  Let  me  hear  what 
they  can  do.  Well,  my  little  man,  and  what  is  your 
name } " 

"  Little  Teddy  Muncey,"  said  a  squeaky  voice,  and 
little  Teddy  Muncey's  forelock,  always  pendant,  went 
near  to  make  acquaintance  with  the  big  boots  he  had 
been  put  into  to  come  to  school. 

"  Your  gardener's  boy,"  said  Mr.  Cocks,  explaining. 

"  Oh — ah  ! — and  you,  my  man — what 's  your 
name  ? " 

A  sharp  fair-haired  lad,  taller  than  the  rest,  who 
was  leaning  over  a  desk  writing,  looked  up,  tugged 
his  hair,  and  said  laconically — 


1 


IS    NOT    SHAMED.  41 

"  Mile-boy." 

"  Mile-boy  ?  "  inquired  the  Parson,  suavely.  "  3Iile- 
boy,  Mr.  Cocks  ? "  Tliere  had  evidently  been  time 
for  some  new  office  to  be  made  and  official  appointed 
since  the  Parson  had  last  visited  the  school. 

"  The  boy  as  carries  the  miles,"  said  Mr.  Cocks, 
again  explaining — "  as  brings  the  miles  from  Cam- 
bridge to  'ere." 

The  truth  flashed  upon  the  Parson  at  length. 
"  The  mails !  oh — ah  !  the  mail-boy."  He  had  lived 
so  much  more  with  books  than  with  villagers,  that  he 
had  forgotten  the  orthodox  pronunciation  of  Has- 
lington. 

"  Well,  ah !— Bible  class,  Mr.  Cocks  1  what  do  they 
do  now  .-* " 

"  Collick,  first  Sunday  in  Advent — Lord's  Prayer 
without  a  mistake, — Creed,  and — anything  more, 
girls  } "     Mr.  Cocks  turned  pompously  to  his  scholars. 

"  Please,  sir,  first  commandment,  sir." 

"  And  this  girl,  sir,  says  the  first  commandment 
without  a  mistake,  sir." 

"  In  the  vulgar  tongue,"  said  the  Parson  absently, 
feeling  he  was  quoting  from  some  one  or  some- 
where. 

"  O  yes,  sir,  in  the  vulgar  tongue,"  said  Mr. 
Cocks,  wholly   innocent   of  any   other ;    and   a    little 


42  MISTRESS    JUDITH 

startled  by  the  idea  that  the  Parson's  rumoured 
erudition  was  about  to  be  brought  to  bear  upon 
him. 

"  Ah — give  me  a  Bible,"  said  the  Parson ;  who 
had  a  secret  horror  of  being  confounded  by  the  pro- 
verbial acuteness  of  children,  and  feeling  he  should 
be  safest  if  he  could  confine  himself  to  questions 
the  answers  to  which  were  under  his  eye. 

"  The  history  of  David,"  said  the  Parson. 

"  The  'istory  of  David  ! "  called  Mr.  Cocks  im- 
periously. 

All  the  children  stared  open-mouthed  and  did 
not  move. 

"  Ah  !  they  have  no  Bibles  I  see  : — well,  children, 
and  who — to  begin  with — was  David  .-*  " 

Dead  silence.  At  length  a  little  girl  of  eight 
stretched  out  a  skinny  arm  in  token  that  she  was 
prepared  to  answer. 

"  Speak  up  then,  child ! "  cried  Mr.  Cocks  en- 
couragingly. 

"  Tm  as  died  last  'arvest." 

The  Parson  looked  up  bewildered :  Mistress 
Judith's  solemn  gravity  gave  way,  and  a  smile 
bubbled  over  her  pouting  mouth.  But  all  the 
children  were  grave  as  Solomon  —  as  grave"  as 
Solomon  would  have  been  could  he  have   heard — • 


IS    NOT    SHA...  ■  43 

to  use  a  paradox — the  silence  which  reigned  when 
the  question  of  who  his  father  was,  was  being  put  to 
one  hundred  httle  dunces. 

A  taller  boy  explained. 

"  'Is  mother  sews,  kivers  cheers  and  sofers,  and 
sich  like.  He  were  called  David  Pratt.  It 's  him 
she  means." 

Parson  Ingrey,  a  little  staggered,  went  on  ex- 
plaining with  exemplary  forbearance.  "  David  was 
a  shepherd  boy — he  was  a  brave  boy — God  chose 
him  for  a  great  office — what  was  the  office  God 
chose  him  for  .''  " 

No  one  answered. 

"  Come,  girls  !  come,  boys  ! "  said  Mr.  Cocks  , 
"  speak  up,  will  you  .'' " 

"  What  office  is  held  here  in  this  country  by 
the  Queen  .? " 

The  "  mile-boy,"  whose  wits  were  unnaturally 
sharpened  by  daily  intercourse  with  that  great  seat 
of  learning,  Cambridge,  was  master  of  the  occasion. 

"  Post-office  ! "  said   he  joyfully. 

Mr.     Cocks    coughed    uneasily,      "'Sh,   'sh,    'sh!" 

said   he  deprecatingly,   shaking  his  head. 

t      "  If  you   please,   sir,"  he  explained  to  the  Parson, 

"  it 's  a  confusion  he  has  made,  what  with  Queen's 

heads   on   the   letters,  and   all — he's   the  mile-boy, 


44  MISTRESS    JUDITH 

you  see,  sir."  And  Mr.  Cocks  stepped  back  satis- 
fied to  his  vantage-ground  at  the  end  of  the  room, 
where  he  stood  wielding  a  slate-pencil  as  a  sceptre, 
and  managing  his  lively  subjects  with  no  appar- 
ent difficulty. 

This  helped  Parson  Ingrey  a  little.  By  dint  of 
driving,  and  questioning,  and  helping  out,  and  tell- 
ing, the  children  were  brought  to  acknowledge  and 
to  grasp  the  fact  that  Mr.  Cocks  was  a  "ruler"  in 
Haslington  school.  The  inference  was  deduced  that 
the  Queen  was  "  ruler "  in  England,  and  that  David 
was   "  ruler  "   in  Israel. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  Parson,  thinking  he  had 
made  great  way,  and  that  Judith  was  yet  to  be 
"  shamed," — "  I  have  told  you  how  David  was 
chosen  as  a  shepherd  boy,  and  anointed  with  oil, 
and  sent  back  to  his  father,  till  such  time  as  God 
should  require  him.  Is  this  the  usual  v/ay  of 
making  kings  ?" 

No  answer. 

"  Come  speak  up,  children  !  Girls,  speak  up !  Is 
kings  made  so  now-a-days  .'' " 

They  understood  this  form  of  interrogation  better, 
but  silence  still  prevailed. 

Parson  Ingrey  racked  his  brain  for  a  simple  means 
of  extorting  a  reply. 


IS    NOT    SHAMED.  45 

"  Suppose,"  said  he,  "  that  our  Queen  should  die 
to-morrow — what  would  happen  ?  " 

Silence  longer  and  profounder  than  ever.  At 
length  a  growl  in  a  further  corner. 

"  Speak  up,  boy ! "  from  Mr.  Cocks. 

"Soul-diers  'ud  foight." 

The  Parson  rose  from  his  seat,  shut  the  Bible, 
and  took  Judith  by  the  hand. 

"  Mr.  Cocks,"  said  he,  "  come  and  speak  to  me  at 
the  Rectory  this  evening — and  remind  me  what 
you  came  for,  Mr.  Cocks.     Good  morning." 

And  Mr.  Cocks  felt  that  the  presence  of  mind  and 
wakefulness  evinced  by  a  parting  salute  from  his 
superior  Avas  ominous  indeed. 

The  Parson  walked  out  of  the  school,  through  the 
playground,  the  churchyard,  his  own  garden,  in 
silence.  But  he  kept  hold  of  Mistress  Judith's  hand 
— the  hand  too  with  the  sucked  thumb  upon  it  that 
was,  oh  !  such  a  comforter. 

But  Mistress  Judith  was  not  quite  so  comfortless 
nov/. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MISTRESS  JUDITH    HAS  NO   BIRTHDAY. 

IT  was  a  sorrowful  birthday  however,  this  ninth 
birthday — though  Mistress  Judith  had  not  been 
utterly  "  shamed." 

The  Parson,  poor  man,  forgot  about  it  altogether. 
He  had  forgotten  it  when  he  told  his  child — 
"  Judith,  I  give  you  to-day  to  make  your  choice," 
implying  that  to-morrow  the  new  course  of  study 
was  to  begin,  or  at  least  that  a  holiday  and  doing 
"jest  what  she  liked "  was  far  removed  from  the 
grasp  of  Mistress  Judith.  Ruth,  who  had  been  the 
confidante  of  the  little  girl's  schemes, — nothing  less 
innocent  than  tea  with  Master  Hurst  and  Am.os 
BuUen  for  a  playmate,  —  looked  upon  them  with 
dissatisfaction,  and  it  was  plain  that  she  would  not 
in  any  way  enliven  the  Parson's  memory. 

"  See  th'  be  a  gO(id  child,"  said  she  roughly, 
twitching  Mistress  Judith's  clothes  one  by  one  off 
the  floor  and  tossing  them  on  to  the  chair,  while  the 
little  giri,  with  pink  feet  dangling  over  the  side,  sat 


MISTRESS    JUDITH    HAS    NO    BIRTHDAY.  47 

on  an  erection  she  had  made  with  the  bolster  and 
pillow,  and  slowly  pushed  her  arms  into  the  sleeves 
of  her  night-dress,  which,  owing  to  Ruth's  fashion 
,  of  tossing  instead  of  folding,  were  by  the  way 
always  turned  outside  in.  "  See  th'  be  a  good  child 
— say  th'  prayers — moind  what  a'  Parson  says,  and 
what  I  says — niver  moind  about  birthdies  and  such 
loike — what  '11  'ee  keer  in  tu  years  how  yer  passed 
yer  birthdie?"  Philosophy  which  silenced,  but  did 
not  comfort.  Mistress  Judith,  who  sighed  her  little 
self  to  sleep  without  attempting  further  arguments, 
and  dreamed  that  she  could  not  remember  father's 
name,  and  that  father  was  very  angry. 

Next  day  came,  and  with  it  no  birthday  greeting 
from  the  Parson.  Judith  on  tiptoe,  with  eyes  rather 
downcast,  went  to  give  him  his  morning  kiss  while  he 
breakfasted.  He  had  forgotten  all  about  the  "course 
of  study,"  all  about  the  birthday.  He  was  going  off 
to  Cambridge  immediately,  and  left  his  daughter 
dolefully  fishing  with  her  forefinger  in  his  tea-cup 
as-  he  drove  away. 

But  all  day  the  heavy  grievance — this  sad  neglect 
of  the  day  on  which  she  had  hitherto  been  allowed  to 
do  "jest  what  she  liked" — lay  at  the  heart  of  Mistress 
Judith.  Amos  Bullen,  whose  mother's  modesty  pre- 
vented  his   coming   constantly,   as   he   should   have 


48  MISTRESS    JUDITH 

liked,  to  amuse  Mistress  Judith,  looked  over  the 
hedge  this  day,  having  permission  to  intrude,  if 
Parson  allowed  it  and  the  young  mistress  was  willing. 
But  a  woeful  face  looked  through  the  privet,  and 
a  sad  but  resigned  voice  said  gently — 

"  Amos,  you  can't  play  with  me  to-day — it  isn't 
a  birthday.     I  'm  not  to  have  a  birthday  at  all." 

"  Why  not,  please.  Mistress  Judith  .'' " 

"Father's   forgotten,   and "   she   stopped   and 

hung  her  head. 

"And  what."*"  asked  Amos  kindly. 

"And  I  'm  too  stupid — I  mean  I  haven't  learnt 
my  lessons,  and 

"And  what.  Mistress  Judith.?" 

By  this  time  they  were  each,  on  either  side  the 
hedge,  drawing  close  to  the  lower  gate  of  the 
garden,  where  they  met  face  to  face. 

"And" — a  great  gulp — "I've  got  to  learn  now — 
hard  lessons — with,  with  " — her  voice  was  shaking 
— "  with  a  governess,  or  at  the  school,  or — "  here 
Mistress  Judith  fairly  burst  into  a  fit  of  sobbing, 
while  she  tried  to  say — "  with  father  and  Jesse 
Bullen." 

"  Please  don't  'ee  cry,  little  mistress,"  said  Amos, 
putting  down  his  satchel.  "  Will  you  come,  and 
I'll  tell  you  summut — out  here.''" 


HAS    NO    BIRTHDAY.  49 

"  Why  can't  you  tell  me  here  ? "  she  asked,  drying 
her  eyes,  while  he  opened  the  gate. 

"  I  durstn't  be  coming  in  here — mother  says  not." 

"  jcsse  comes  !  "  indignantly. 

''Ay!  but  please,  Mistress  Judith,  Parson  he's 
asked  him,  and  Jesse  he  's  going  to  be  a  scholar." 

Mistress  Judith  was  not  quite  satisfied.  She  con- 
sidered her  thumb,  which  was  a  little  too  dirty  to 
suck  just  then.  She  had  been  making  mud-pud- 
dings. 

"  Does  scholards  have  birthdays } "  asked  she  pre- 
sently. (Providentially  the  Parson  is  on  his  way  to 
Cambridge.) 

"  I  doan't  know  whether  they  has  birthdies, 
Mistress  Judith  ;  but  I  know  as  how  they  must  go 
to  school — leastways  Jesse,  he  's  going." 

"  Who  says  that  } "  with  both  eyes  wide  open, 
very  incredulously. 

"Jesse,  he  says  it — Parson,  he  told  him  he  has 
teached  him  all  he  knows — he  can't  teach  him  more." 

"  Then  I  don't  believe  that !  "  indignantly. 

"  But  it 's  quite  true,"   said   a    clear  voice    behind 

her  ;     and    Mistress    Judith,    looking   up,   saw   Jesse 

Bullen  smiling  at  her,    as   he  leapt  from  the   study 

window. 

"  That    you  're    a-going    to    school,    may    be,"  said 

D 


50  -MISTRESS    JUDITH 

Amos,  a  little  bluntly ;  "  but  I  doan't  know  as  how 
about  the  Parson  having  learned  you  all  he 
knows." 

"  You  'd  best  learn  too,"  said  Jesse,  turning  away  a 
little  haughtily ;  "  when  I  get  back  from  school  with 
prizes,  I  shan't  keer," — he  corrected  himself  instantly 
— "  I  shan't  care  to  have  my  brother  saying  '  learn  * 
when  he  should   say 'teach.'" 

Amos  did  not  answer.     But  presently  he  asked — 

"  Where  are  'ee  going,  lad  ? " 

"  To  Wemby." 

"Mother  asked  us  to  be  home  betimes,"  said 
Amos ;  "  you  know  this  is  the  night  father  died, 
and  she  's  lonesome." 

But  Jesse  was  far  up  the  road,  whistling. 

"  Amos  !  "  said  Judith  presently,  stretching  out  her 
arms,  "  bend  down,  I  've  got  a  secret ! "  He  leant 
over  the  gate,  which  he  had  shut  again  when  he  re- 
membered his  promise  to  his  mother  of  being  home 
betimes ;  and  his  russet  head  came  close  to  the  round 
brim  of  Mistress  Judith's  white  sun-bonnet,  while  the 
fat  arms  went  round  his  bronzed  neck. 

"  There  !  isiit  that  a  nice  secret  "i "  she  asked,  going 
down  from  her  tiptoes  and  loosing  her  hold. 

Amos  coloured  a  little,  either  at  the  secret,  or  the 
embrace,  or  both. 


HAS    NO    BIRTHDAY.  51 

"  We  won't  tell  any  one,  Amos — and  I'll  ask  father 
— when  it 's  done  being  my  birthday." 

It  was  nine  o'clock  that  evening,  and  the  Parson 
was  sitting  over  his  books  by  the  light  of  his  lamp, 
when  he  remembered  Mistress  Judith's  birthday. 
Her  mother's  picture  hung  above  his  mantel-shelf — 
his  eye  fell  upon  it :  he  thought  of  her.  From  her 
his  mind  wandered  to  his  little  daughter.  And  then 
he  remembered  how  he  had  forgotten ! 

He  put  away  the  books  one  by  one ;  for  he  had 
method  about  one  thing — his  books.  Then  taking  his 
lamp,  he  went  softly  upstairs. 

The  door  was  open.  The  tossed  clothes  lay  in  a 
heap  on  the  chair  by  the  window.  The  moon- 
light was  streaming  in  in  a  white  mist  upon  the 
floor. 

There  was  a  little  sound.  Could  she  be  awake 
that  he  might  tell  her  .-* 

No  :  it  was  only  a  bat  chirruping  in  the  roof. 
With  round  arms  thrown  across  the  pillow,  the  hair 
lying  half  in  disorder,  half  knotted  up  ;  the  blue  eyes 
closed,  and  the  slight  little  figure  disposed  in  the 
sweet  abandonment  of  sleep — there  she  lay,  caring 
nothing  for  the  moonlight  or  the  bats  chirruping, 
nothing  for  the  creaking  of  the  old  boards  under 
heavy  feet,  nothing   for   the   full   light  of  the  lamp 


52  MISTRESS    JUDITH     HAS    NO    BIRTHDAY. 

as  it  fell  upon  her;  nothing  now  for  the  birthday 
that  was  over. 

Ah !  it  was  too  late.  He  could  not  wake  her ; 
and  if  he  had,  what  words  could  he  have  used .-' 

The  Parson  felt  it  was  well  that  she  slept,  as  he 
turned  away  quietly,  carrying  the  lamp.  And  yet  he 
paused  before  he  closed  the  door — was  that  a  sound 
after  all  ?  Could  she  have  awoke  ?  And  was  there 
still  a  chance  that  he  might  tell  her? 

No :  it  was  too  late.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the 
moon  rode  high  in  heaven.  It  was  quite  done  being 
Mistress  Judith's  birthday. 

Poor  little  Mistress  Judith,  who  had  no  mother  to 
kiss  her,  and  remember. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

EIGHT  YEARS  AFTER. 

YEARS  pass  over  many  places  and  leave  no 
trace.     It  was  so  with  Haslington, 

Ivy  grew,  birds  built  and  reared  their  young  in 
the  same  corners,  the  streams  lagged  by,  the  wind- 
mills fitfully  went  round,  the  sun  rose  and  set 
between  the  pollards  and  the  poplars,  the  church 
bells  rang  on  Sundays,  Parson  Ingrey  preached, 
the  old  folks  dozed,  the  young  folks  cut  their 
names  upon  the  seats.  And  if  Parson  found  a 
new  text,  if  the  rope  broke  in  the  old  clerk's 
hand,  if  Mistress  Bullen's  cow  with  the  crooked 
horn  lowed,  why  it  was  all  heard  and  known  over 
the  parish  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

Just  so  it  was  when  Mistress  Judith  sucked  her 
thumb.  Just  so  it  is  now,  and  she  stands  tall 
and  fair  like  a  garden  lily;  only  a  little  bronzed, 
because  the  sun-bonnet  is  outgrown,  and  she  is  a 
sun-lover,  always  darting  out  of  and  into  the  garden. 


54  EIGHT    YEARS    AFTER. 

Yes,  there  she  stands  against  the  wicket  gate,  and 
leans  upon  it  —  the  gate  that,  when  we  saw  her 
last,   she  stood  on  tiptoe  but  to  reach. 

Maids  grow  and  flowers  blow  ;  and  we  would  not 
have  it  otherwise. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  ye  see,  Mistress  Judith," 
says  Mistress  Hurst,  scraping  the  hem  of  her  apron 
on  the  other  side  the  gate ;  "  you  see,  for  the 
loikes  o'  you,  my  dear,  it  ain't  the  same  as  'tis  for 
sich  as  us,  my  dear,  ye  see." 

"But  I  went  last  year,  Mrs.   Hurst." 

"  Well,  yes,  my  dear,  so  ye  did,  to  be  sure ;  but 
you  're  gittin'  on  in  years,  my  dear ;  and  ye  see 
it  lastes  so  late,  my  de^r ;  and  there  's  that  dancin' 
saloon  up  agin  them  housen  as  belongs  to  Mistress 
Bullen,  and " 

"Yes;  that's  just  what  I  want  to  see!"  broke  in 
Mistress  Judith  incorrigibly. 

"Well,  my  dear,  ye  see,"  and  Mistress  Hurst  put 
her  hand  over  her  eyes  for  the  sun,  and  squinted 
up  sideways  at  Judith,  while  her  voice  became 
confidential ;  "  for  sich  as  you,  ye  see,  the  Parson 
he  'd  say  you  aitt  to  have  a  man  along  of  you, 
and " 

"  Well,  and  shan't  we  have  Master  Hurst !  Come, 
Mary,    don't    make    it    out    so    hard    and    difficult. 


EIGHT    YEARS    AFTER.  55 

Shan't  we  have  Master  Hurst,  and  amn't  I  going  to 
wheel  him  up  in  the  chair  ? " 

Mistress  Hurst  laughed  a  pleased  laugh,  and 
could    only   begin    feebly,    "  Ye    see,    my   dear " 

"  And  if  we  want  another  man,  why,  there's  Amos 
Bullen.  He  '11  come.  I  '11  see  him  at  church  to- 
morrow, and  then  I  '11  tell  him.  So  I  '11  come  over 
at  five,  Mary,  remember." 

And  Mistress  Hurst,  shaking  her  head  and  say- 
ing, "  Ye  see,  my  dear "  was  left  uncere- 
moniously by  Mistress  Judith,  who,  seeing  a  brown 
baby  being  carried  in  the  distance,  passed  down 
the  road  like  a  soft  breeze,  and  took  it  out  of  the 
mother's  arms. 

"  O  you  nice  little  baby !  "  said  she,  caressing 
it.  "  Oh,  but  you  aren't  nice !  It  doesn't  know  its 
godmother.  Mistress  Gadd,  docs  it  ?  Please  take  it, 
won't  you  .-*"  imploringly,  as  the  brown  face  puckered 
up  till  it  looked  like  a  squeezed  ball,  and  the  squeeny 
half-open  eyes  grew  smaller  than  ever. 

And  before  Mistress  Gadd,  the  younger,  -w^ho 
had  been  six  weeks  a  proud  mother,  had  had 
time  to  reply,  she  found  her  offspring  restored  to 
her,  and  Mistress  Judith  was  gone.  But  tlie  off- 
spring howled  long  after  the  departure  of  its  god- 
mother. 


56  EIGHT  YEARS    AFTER. 

Mistress  Judith  had  not  to  wait  till  Sunday  to 
see  Amos  Bullen,  and  to  claim  his  protection  for 
Haslington  feast. 

As  she  went  lightly  up  and  down  the  garden, 
picking  roses  and  dropping  them  into  the  basket 
that  Bully  carried  between  his  teeth,  a  step  on  the 
road  made  her  pause  and  listen.  She  looked  up, 
by  the  way,  at  every  step.  Most  people  did  in 
Haslineton.  But  this  time  there  was  some  interest 
looking  out  of  her  expressive  face. 

"Amos!"  said  she,  when  she  was  certain;  and 
then  she  ran  to  the  gate.  Bully  strewing  the  path 
behind  her  with  roses,  that  were  tilting  one  by 
one  out  of  the  basket,  as  he  came  bounding  along 
in  unnecessary  haste  and  excitement  after  his  mis- 
tress. 

*'  Ah,  I  'm  glad  it 's  you,  Amos,"  said  she  ;  and  she 
opened  the  gate  and  beckoned  him  to  come  in.  But 
he  hesitated. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said,  a  little  impatiently.  "  Surely 
the  time  is  over  for  you  to  stand  hanging  outside 
because  Mistress  Bullen  tells  you  not  to  be  for- 
ward !  She  doesn't  tell  you  that  now,  Amos,  does 
she.''"     And  she  smiled. 

A  fine  young  giant,  with  a  russet  head,  laid  down 
a  crooked  stick  he  was  holding,  and  came  shyly  into 


EIGHT    YEARS    AFTER.  57 

the  garden,  where  he  drew  a  long  breath  and  stood 
looking  round  without  speaking. 

"  One  would  think  you  had  not  seen  the  garden 
before,  Amos,"  said  the  girl,  turning  round  to  pick 
up  the  spilt  roses.  "  But  you  have  seen  all  I  Ve  done, 
haven't  you,  except  the  honeysuckle  on  the  wash- 
house  ?  And,  oh  !  I  've  planted  a  climbing  tea-rose 
on  the  wall  beneath  my  window;  come  and  see! 
There — that's  the  last  rose  Bully  dropt — stupid  Bully! 
Thank  you,  Amos — now  come  and  see  the  rose." 

"  It 's  to  look  into  my  window,"  she  said,  as  they 
went  towards  the  house.  "  I  want  the  smell  of  it  to 
come  in  when  I  wake  in  the  morning — only  think, 
one  of  those  great  soft  sweet  things  looking  in  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning !  all  the  scent  of  it  coming 
fanning  in  when  Ruth  opens  the  window,  and  the  dew 
hanging  on  it — all  heavy  and  sparkling." 

They  had  reached  the  wall  now.  Judith  put  her 
hand  against  it. 

"  There !  just  feel  how  warm  it  is — ^just  as  if  there 
were  a  fire  behind  it.  Only  think  how  the  rose  will 
grow  on  it — eh,  Amos.-'" 

The  russet  head  was  turned  first  up  to  the  window 
that  was  Mistress  Judith's — the  same  she  tried  to  step 
out  of  as  a  little  child,  and  then  to  a  great  crimson 
rose  some  yards  off 


58  EIGHT    YEARS    AFTER. 

''  Is  that  it,  Mistress  Judith  ?"   he  asked. 

"  T/iat !  why,  Amos,  that  was  tliere  before  I  was 
born!  I  tell  you  I've  just  planted  injy  rose:  it's  a 
great  /^,^-rose,  not  a  red  one."  She  stooped  down 
and  parted  the  grass  at  the  foot  of  the  wall.  "  Wait  a 
minute — no,  that's  a  weed  !  here  it  is!"  And  as  she 
held  the  waves  of  grass  open  with  her  hands  the 
russet  head  bent  down,  and  with  the  help  of  a  pair  of 
large  dreamy  eyes,  Amos  was  able  to  discern  a  little 
rose-shoot  with  a  hanging,  faded  head. 

"Do  you  think  it'll  live,  Mistress  Judith?"  he 
asked,  sceptically. 

"  Live !  why,  of  course  !  it 's  only  just  put  in  I 
that's  why  it  hangs  its  head!" 

She  spoke  eagerly  at  first,  but  her  voice  sank 
a  little,  as  if  she  were  disappointed,  and  she  let 
the  grass  go  back  over  the  rose-shoot,  and  picked 
up  her  basket. 

Amos,  quick  in  everything  that  had  to  do  with 
the  feelings,  and  in  nothing  else,  saw  the  change, 
and  the  expression  on  his  own  face  altered  a  little. 
But  he  said  nothing. 

They  walked  away  to  the  honeysuckle  on  the  wash- 
house  ;  and  when  he  had  looked  at  it,  and  said,  "  It 's 
very  fine.  Mistress  Judith,"  there  seemed  nothing 
more  to  say. 


EIGHT    YEARS    AFTER.  59 

"  I  should  give  you  a  piece,"  said  she,  picking  a 
sprig  and  sticking  it  into  her  dress,  "  but  you  don't 
care  for  flowers,  Amos." 

Amos  felt  it  was  a  reproach,  and  he  knew  that 
it  was  deserved  in  part.  But  he  should  have  liked 
a  bit  of  that  honeysuckle ;  and  because  he  was 
pained,  or  because  he  wanted  the  flower,-  he  said 
nothing.  Some  folks  are  fashioned  so,  and  they 
are  not  always  the  least  worthy  of  God's  sons  and 
daughters. 

"  But  I  was  forgetting  what  I  had  called  you  in 
for — I  mean" — she  corrected  herself  as  she  felt  the 
large  eyes  turned  rather  suddenly  (for  Amos)  upon 
her — "  I  mean  ^^•hat  I  had  in  my  mind  to  ask  you 
when  I  heard  your  step."    The  big  eyes  turned  again. 

"  Anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Mistress  Judith,"  he 
said,  reverently  ;  and  his  tone  had  more  cheer  in  it. 

"  Only  to  come  with  us  to  the  feast  on  Friday, 
Amos ;  with  Master  Hurst,  and  his  wife,  and  me. 
You  know,  he  's  too  ill  to  walk  now  ;  but  father  let 
me  take  the  chair  on  wheels  that  was  lying  in  the 
stable,  and  he  gets  about  beautifully  in  that.  I  took 
him  up  to  see  your  mother  yesterday  ;  he  calls  her 
his  '  blessed  lady.'  I  think  it  is  a  very  good  name, 
Amos,  don't  you  ?  Where  were  you  yesterday  when 
I  went  up  to  the  farm?" 


6o  '  EIGHT    YEARS    AFTER. 

"  Choosing  cows  at  Paxton,  Mistress  Judith/'  said 
Amos. 

"And  does  your  mother  trust  you  to  do  that }"  she 
asked,  smiUng. 

"  Oh  ay !  she  trusts  me ;  but  it 's  not  for  mother 
exactly  now,  if  you  please,  Mistress  Judith — it's  all 
Jesse's  now." 

"  Since  when  ?  Jessis  f "  asked  Judith,  surprised. 

"  Since  Sunday  week,  when  he  came  nineteen ; 
father  left  everything  to  mother  till  such  time  as 
Jesse  came  nineteen.  Now  it's  all  his,  the  house 
and   farm,  and   stock,   and   everything." 

"And  what   is  yours,  Amos.''" 

"  The  one  field  behind  the  church  (there 's  two 
of  'cm  you  know,  Mistress  Judith,  but  it's  the  right- 
hand  side  is  mine,  the  other's  Jesse's),  and  the  one  on 
the  Paxton  Road,  opposite  the  Pembroke  Arms,  with 
a  stile  at  the  far  corner." 

"  And  is  that  all .-' "  asked  Judith,  in  a  tone  of 
greater  surprise   than  she   was  conscious   of. 

Amos,  as  was  his  bad  custom,  coloured  hotly,  and 
said  quietly, — "  Yes  ;  that 's  all."  But  his  tell-tale 
voice  told  he  was  hurt  or  saddened,  or  touched  in 
some  weak  part. 

"And  so  you're  managing  it  all  for  Jesse T 
Judith  went  on,  seating  herself  on  the  garden  bench. 


EIGHT    YEARS    AFTER.  6l 

and  arranging  her  roses  in  bunches,  with  a  naturally- 
exquisite  appreciation  of  colour  and  form,  and  now 
and  then  holding  her  head  on  one  side  to  look  at 
them,  while  Amos  stood  beside  her  and  said  nothing. 

"And  so  it's  all  for  Jesse!"  she  went  on;  "and 
when  will  Jesse  come  and  see  it,  Amos  ?  Surely  he 
won't  leave  you  always  to  do  the  work  for  him,  will 
he  ?  Why,  it 's  your  turn  to  go  out  and  see  the  world, 
isn't  it  ?  If  I  were  you  I  'd  tell  him  to  come  and 
mind  his  business  a  bit,  and  let  you  go  travelling. 
To  think  of  Jesse  being  so  travelled!  Why,  there's 
a  letter  now  for  father  on  the  hall  table ;  come  and 
see  if  it  isn't  Jesse's  writing.  Father  's  in  his  study, 
but  he  doesn't  count  much  on  the  post,  except  it 's  a 
letter  from  Jesse.  It 's  foreign  isn't  it,  Amos  ?  It 's 
from  Paris !  Do  you  write  like  that,  eh  .''  I  've  never 
seen  you  write,  Amos.  Come  in  here  and  let  me  see 
how  you  do  it.  Father  '11  like  to  see  the  letter,  since 
it's  from  Jesse." 

She  opened  the  door  as  she  spoke,  and  putting 
her  hand  on  her  father's  head,  with  the  other  she 
lifted  his  face  unceremoniously  from  his  book,  and 
turned  his  eyes  to  the  letter,  which  she  had  put  at  a 
little  distance  from  him. 

"  Guess,  father !"  said  she,  putting  her  smooth  red 
lips  to  his  rough  forehead.     "  There  's  something  the 


62'  EIGHT    YEARS    AFTER. 

mail-boy  has  brought !  Open  it  and  see  where  your 
boy  is  now ;  and  if  there 's  any  message  for  his 
mother." 

Parson  Ingrey's  face  sunned  over  with  a  pleased 
smile. 

"  Good  lad  !"  said  he,  quietly.  "  Good  lad!  I  forget 
where  he  was  to  be,  Judith,  eh .''" 

"  Open  it  and  see,  you  forgetful  father!"  she  said, 
kissing  him  again,  and  then  she  rested  her  chin  upon 
his  iron-grey  head,  to  read  Jesse  Bullen's  letter. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WHY   JESSE   CHANGED   HIS   MIND. 

"  T  HOPE  there's  nothing  wrong  with  Jesse,"  said 
X  Mistress  Judith  to  Amos  as  they  stood  again 
outside  the  door,  under  the  porch  and  the  shade  of 
the  tumbled  "travellers'  joy"  that  fell  round  them 
like  a  veil.  Amos  had  a  wholesome  dread  of  Parson 
Ingrey  and  his  study  since  the  day  when  Judith's 
"  great  secret "  had  ended  in  his  being  made  her  com- 
panion at  lessons,  and  that,  alas  !  had  ended  in  his 
being  given  up  as  an  incorrigible  dunderhead  who 
was  not  up  to  more  than  breeding  cattle  and  sowing 
oats. 

The  Parson  had  not  clothed  his  decision  in  like 
words.  To  Mistress  BuUen  he  had  broken  the  sad 
fact  almost  tenderly,  and  she  had  only  showed  any 
feeling  on  the  subject  by  a  pink  spot  on  either 
cheek,  and  a  few  moments  of  silence,  before  she 
expressed  her  gratitude  for  what  the  Parson  had 
already  done  for  her  elder  son  Jesse.  That  grati- 
tude had  since  had  food  to  grow  upon  indeed.     From 


64  WHY    JESSE 

the  day  that  Jesse  had  appeared  bareheaded  in  the 
study,  and  had  been  asked  "Who  are  you,  my 
iittle  man?"  the  Parson  had  taught  him,  helped 
liim,  Avatched  him  with  unceasing  interest  and  affec- 
tion. 

When  he  felt  that  it  was  time  that  the  boy  should 
decide  his  own  future,  the  Parson  broached  the  sub- 
ject with  a  quiet  but  deep  anxiety.  This  clever  clear- 
headed youth,  with  his  keen  interest  in  the  classics, 
in  mathematics,  in  history,  in  general  information — 
what  might  he  not  do  ?  what  career  might  not  be 
open  to  him  ? 

Himself  content  with  the  calmest  and  quietest  of 
country  lives,  he  could  foresee  for  the  boy  whose 
welfare  he  had  taken  so  strongly  to  heart  a  life  far 
otherwise  ordered. 

He  would  send  him  to  a  good  school — after  that  a 
scholarship  at  King's  would  be  a  matter  of  ask  and 
have.  And  then — a  public  life.  A  great  preacher,  an 
orator,  a  statesman — anything  that  should  use  and 
show  forth  the  great  talents  with  which  God  had 
gifted  him. 

Parson  Ingrey  was  conservative — for  instance  he 
disapproved  of  new  sermons, — but  he  had  that  large- 
mindedness  that  may  exist  in  any  party,  and  is  apart 
from  all.  He  approved  of  good  measures  from  bad 


CHANGED    HIS    MIND.  65 

governments,  and  he  knew  that  good  measures  were 
being  brought  about  now. 

He  was  Broad  Church  in  the  sense  of  having  a 
heart  wide  enough  and  eyes  faithful  enough  to  read 
and  to  receive  good  wheresoever  it  might  be  found. 

And  sitting  in  his  corner,  unbiassed  by  pubHc 
opinion  or  by  friends  who  were  in  power,  he  looked 
out  keenly  on  the  changes  that  were  going  on  in 
the  world  beyond  him.  In  many  senses  he  was,  as 
our  Saviour  said  we  should  be,  "  in  the  world  and 
yet  not  of  it." 

In  his  young  days  how  stagnant  life  was  in 
comparison  to  this !  Why,  till  he  had  come  to 
Haslington  the  services  had  been  done  or  left  undone 
by  a  galloping  clergy.  Mistress  Bullen  remembered 
as  a  child  going  with  her  father  on  Sundays  to  the 
rising  ground,  since  called  "  Parson's  Signal,"  where 
a  flag  was  posted  if  there  were  a  sufficient  number 
in  church  to  justify  the  equestrian  minister's  paus- 
ing at  Haslington.  And  if  Haslington  had  him,  why 
Paxton  and  Wemby  must  go  without. 

Politics  had  been  rife  at  times  ;  and  factions  and 
parties,  those  sleepless  incarnations  of  restlessness 
and  sin,  did  not  fail.  Only  God's  Spirit  seemed  to 
have  been  driven  away — only  God's  servants  were 
asleep,  and  dreaming. 


66  WHY    JESSE 

Now,  if  party  spirit  waxed  high,  zeal  for  the 
good  and  the  noble  was  astir  too.  It  tvould  not 
sleep — it  zvoiild  mix  itself  with  all  men's  matters, 
with  all  politics,  with  all  questions  great  and 
small.  And  where  Christ's  Spirit  is,  men  grow 
liberal.  And  so  the  age  is  liberal;  and  men  start 
and  take  affright,  and  think  it  is  an  odious  party- 
word  that  "  Liberal."  Perhaps  it  is  a  party-word 
now — words  get  twisted  in  the  using.  But  for  all 
that  to  be  liberal  is  Christian,  Christ-like  ;  so  for 
God's  sake  let  us  have  a  liberal  age  ! 

Parson  Ingrey  felt  that  the  old  times  had  been 
against  him :  that  he  had  no  energy  to  start  up 
from  the  lethargy  of  the  Church  into  which  he  had 
fallen,  and  that  if  he  were  young  again  he  should 
lack  the  energy  still.  But  Jesse,  with  his  hot  blood, 
and  his  quick  keen  insight,  and  his  fair  judgment, 
and  his  unquestionable  talents  —  should  not  he 
astonish  the  world  ?  Fresh  young  blood  in  him  too, 
not  run  out  and  dried  up  by  reason  of  the  age  of 
his  family — though  in  their  own  way  the  Bullens 
were  old  enough  too.  There  had  been  Bullens  at 
Trotter's  End,  and  Bullens  churchwardens  of  Has- 
lington,  long  before  most  of  our  ennobled  families 
were  risen  out  of  the  dust. 

But   then   a   fine    healthy   old    race   it   was  —  not 


CHANCED    HIS    MIND.  67 

having  scorned  to  mix  with  always  fresh  country 
blood,  not  circumscribed  by  rank  into  ever-lessening 
circles,  and  ending  with  a  pale  sickly  small-boned 
heiress,  bound  down  by  the  weight  of  hereditary 
honours  and  lands,  and  sometimes  by  hereditary 
things  less  pleasant. 

Instead  of  that — why  look  at  Jesse  and  Amos. 
Amos  especially,  what  a  fine  man  he  was !  Even 
the  Parson  thought  Amos  a  fine  animal. 

So  Jesse  had  everything  on  his  side,  including 
Parson  Ingrey's  purse;  for  he  kept  saying  to  Mis- 
tress Bullen,  who  only  half-entered  into  the  scheme 
• — "  He  '11  want  all  his  money  by  and  by  Mistress 
Bullen — see  that  }'Ou  and  Amos  do  the  best  with 
the  farm."  And  so  all  the  school  expenses  fell  on 
the  Parson. 

It  was  just  as  Jesse  was  leaving  school,  a  year 
before  the  Parson  received  the  foreign  letter,  and 
when  Jesse  was  eighteen,  that  the  Parson  received, 
poor  man,  another  letter,  telling  him  that  all  his 
hopes  of  the  great  public  career  were  at  an  end — 
Jesse  chose  to  be  a  soldier.. 

It  was  a  respectful,  dutiful  letter.  The  lad  bowed 
his  judgment  to  the  superior  judgment  of  his  patron 
and  disparaged  his  own  powers.  But  he  had  known 
as  he  wrote  the  letter  that  there  was  but  one  aubwer 


68  WHV    JESSE 

likely  to  be  returned,  though  some  posts  might 
pass  before  the  letter  was  written, — "  Do  as  you 
please,  Jesse,  lad.  I  am  grieved  that  you  lose 
heart  about  college,  for  you  would  have  done 
something  there.  But  it  will  be  for  the  best, 
lad,  no  doubt  ;  and  you  shall  go  abroad,  as  you 
say,  and  learn  languages." 

And  then,  with  some  quiet  earnest  warnings 
and  no  reproaches,  the  letter  finished  by  telling 
Jesse  where  he  would  find  remittances,  the  amount 
to  be  limited  only  by  Jesse  himself. 

After  that  the  Parson  had  told  Mistress  BuUen, 
and  after  that  he  told  Judith,  for  his  heart  was 
too  heavy  just  at  first  to  allow  the  subject  to  slip 
from  his  bad  memory.  And  alas !  the  worst  of 
memories  can't  make  us  forget  some  things  —  what 
we  should  remember  we  forget,  and  we  cannot  for- 
get  what  we  would  not  remember. 

"  feather,"  said  Judith,  looking  rather  startled  when 
he  had  told  her — "  it 's  a  very  sudden  change  of 
Jesse's,  isn't  it  ?  He  was  here  only  the  other  day — 
what  could  make  him  change  so  suddenly .'' " 

Parson  Ingrey  had  been  wondering  too.  Perhaps 
that^had  some  share  in  his  disappointment.  But  he 
trusted  Jesse,  and  was  satisfied  that  he  could  not  have 
made  up  his  mind  when  he  was  here  a  week  ago. 


CHANGED    HIS    MIND.  69 

Mistress  Judith  stood  by  her  father's  side.  Pre- 
sently she  moved  a  little  behind  him — her  face  had 
flushed. 

"  Father  !  "  Mistress  Judith's  conscience  was  mak- 
ing her  speak  ;  she  was  afraid  she  should  not  be 
candid  if  she  did  not  tell  her  father  all  that  she 
knew  or  could  guess  of  the  cause  of  Jesse's  change  of 
opinion.  "  Father ! "  she  said,  her  breath  coming  a 
little  quickly  as  if  she  were  making  a  confession — 
just  as  Ruth  made  her  do  when  she  broke  a  tumbler 
long  ago — "  when  Jesse  was  here  we  were  talking 
about  professions — Mistress  BuUen  was  there,  and 
Amos,  and  I  ;  and  Mistress  Bullen  said  anything  was 
better  than  a  soldier,  and  I  said  I  didn't  think  so. 
I  said  I  liked  soldiers.  You  know  they  had  passed, 
father,  through  the  village — marching,  do  you  re- 
member .''  The  band  played  so  beautifully,  father, 
and  the  horses  were  so  beautiful !  And  I  looked 
round  and  saw  a  man  ploughing,  and  I  pointed  to 
him  and  said,  '  Oh,  who  would  plough  if  he  could 
carry  a  sword,  and  have  such  music,  and  look  like 
that ! '  " 

"  And  what  did  Jesse  say  to  that,  daughter  ?  ' 
asked  the  Parson  with  a  smile,  the  first  smile  he 
had  worn  that  day.  But  Judith  was  behind  him, 
and  she  didn't  see  it. 


70  WHY    JESSE    CHANGED    HIS    MIND. 

"  He  said  nothing,  father  ;  neither  did  Amos.  But 
then  afterwards  Jesse  said  to  me,  as  if  he'd  been 
thinking  of  it — '  Mistress  Judith,  do  you  think  a 
scholar  is  better  than  a  soldier.'*'  and  I  said — 'I 
don't  know  for  you,  Jesse  ;  I  know  for  myself  I'd 
as  lief  have  a  mummy  as  a  bookworm.'  And  then," 
she  went  on,  "  he  said,  '  Your  father 's  a  scholar, 
Mistress  Judith.'  'Yes,'  said  I,  'and  I  would  not 
have  him  otherwise.  But  no  one  can  be  like  father, 
and  I  'd  rather  have  a  good  soldier  than  a  bad  scholar 
any  day. ' " 

"  And  do  you  think  he  made  up  his  mind  then, 
Judith .''  "  asked  the  Parson,  pushing  his  hand  through 
his  hair,  with  the  same  quiet  twinkle — that  Judith 
could  not  see — in  his  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know,  father — I  think  " — conscience  was 
forcing  it  out  again,  and  conscience  seemed  to  make 
a  great  struggle,  so  that  Mistress  Judith's  cheek 
flamed — "  I  think  he  said  quite  low,  under  his  breath, 
*  Then  I  '11  be  a  soldier.  Mistress  Judith.'  But  I 
can't  be  certain,  father;  he  mayn't  have  said  it  after 
all." 

That  was  a  year  ago,  when  Mistress  Judith  Mas 
just  sixteen.  She  is  seventeen  now,  and  Jesse  has 
been  a  year  away.  And  she  is  under  the  porch  with 
Amos. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

UNDER  THE   PORCH   WITH  AMOS. 

AMOS  liked   that  porch  and  the  travellers'  joy. 
He   stood    fingering   it    for   a   long   time  by- 
Judith's  side. 

It  was  not  till  the  day-breeze  died,  and  the  long 
white  wreaths  lay  still  in  the  warm  evening  air,  that 
he  remembered  himself,  and  started,  and  took  up  his 
hat  from  the  green  bench  on  which  Judith  sat  knit- 
ting, and  then  began  to  move  his  great  person  slowly 
away,  saying — • 

"  Good-night,  if  you  please.  Mistress  Judith." 
"  If  j'ou  please,  Amos,"  she  returned;  "I  am  not 
tired  of  company,  I  can  tell  you.  The  days  are  very 
long  sometimes,  when  father  goes  to  Cambridge,  or 
when  I  sit  alone  here  in  the  porch,  and  he  is  reading 
or  writing  in  his  study.  I  am  least  lonesome  here, 
I  think  ;  the  flowers  seem  to  keep  me  company — and 
as  for  the  nightingale,  he  sings  sometimes  as  if  the 
very  gates  of  heaven  had  opened  to  let  him  through, 
and  he  had  only  a  little  time  to  sing  down  here,  and 


72  UNDER    THE    PORCH 

SO  must  sing  bravely.  I  could  not  sleep  for  him  last 
night ;  I  got  up  and  closed  the  window  at  last.  And, 
Amos  " — she  lifted  her  head  and  looked  at  him — "  do 
you  know  I  saw  a  light  up  at  Trotter's  End — three 
in  the  morning,  Amos,  and  some  one  was  sitting  up  ? 
You  must  be  very  hard  on  Lydia  and  Jael  if  you 
make  them  spin  or  sweep  at  those  hours — or  was  it 
your  mother,  do  you  think,  Amos.-'" 

Amos  moved  his  foot  uneasily  on  the  gravel  walk. 
He  seemed  as  if  he  would  not  answer.  Then  sud- 
denly he  threw  up  his  head,  and  the  russet  locks 
fell  back,  as  he  turned  and  made  answer,  looking 
at  Judith  with  those  clear  blue  eyes  through  which 
truth  and  purity  look  out. 

"  It  was  I   that  sat  up,  Mistress  Judith." 

"  What  for  ? "  asked  she  astonished,  still  lifting  her 
face  and  looking  on  him.  The  moon  was  rising  over 
the  edge  of  the  horizon,  and  the  sun  had  hardly  yet 
faded  out  of  the  sky.  The  silver  and  the  golden 
lights  were  just  meeting  and  parting,  and  the  earth 
lay  still,  the  shifting  shadows  playing  over  her,  and 
then  ceasing — till  one  light,  and  one  only,  should  be 
in  the  ascendant  again. 

"Since  you  ask  me  what  for,  Mistress  Judith,"  said 
Amos,  sitting  down  on  the  bench  opposite  her,  for  he 
never  took  upon  himself  to  sit  beside  her  yet — "since 


WITH    AMOS.     ■  73 

you  ask  me  what  for,  I  will  tell  you.  It's  a  long 
time  since — at  least  in  some  ways  it  seems  very  long, 
and  in  others  it  don't — since  you  said  it  was  a  pity 
there  should  be  such  a  difference  between  me  and 
Jesse.  I  didn't  see  that  exactly,  Mistress  Judith,  do 
you  mind .''  But  you  said,  '  There  are  some  ways  in 
which  there  needn't  be  a  difference,  Amos  .'' '  Do  you 
remember,  Mistress  Judith  .? " 

Mistress  Judith  was  aghast  over  her  knitting  at  the 
fidelity  with  which  her  light  words  had  been  remem- 
bered.    She  did  not  answer, 

"  After  that,"  said  Amos,  talking  with  a  decision 
and  a  lack  of  shyness  that  for  long  had  forsaken  him 
in  Judith's  presence — "After  that  we  talked  a  long 
while.  I  was  foolish.  Mistress  Judith.  I  tried  to 
persuade  myself  that  learning  had  nothing  to  do  with 
a  man — nothing  to  do  with  his  heart,  and,  and  " — 
he  hesitated — "  nothing  to  do  with  the  opinion  that 
his  neighbours  would  make  of  him.  Do  you  mind 
on  that,  Mistress  Judith.?"  And  now  he  paused,  and 
waited  for  an  answer. 

"  Why  yes,  Amos ;  I  think  I  mind."  She  was 
beginning  to  be  more  than  astonished,  almost  fright- 
ened, by  the  resolution  in  Amos'  face. 

"  Well,"  he  went  on,  "  you  spoke  to  me.  Mistress 
Judith,  and   made  me  think  different.     You  showed 


74  UNDER    THE    PORCH 

me  God  had  given  me  power  to  be  more  than  a 
stout  labourer;  that  if  I  chose  I  could  better  my- 
self, learn  to  read  and  write  well,  hold  my  head  as 
high  in  the  world  as  father  did,  if  not  as  high  as 
Jesse." 

"  No  one  could  hold  their  head  higher  than  your 
^father,  Amos,"  said  Judith  gravely,  "  for  he  was 
good." 

"You  said  something  like  that  then,  Mistress 
Judith ;  it  set  me  thinking,  and  I  Ve  never  stopped 
since.  I  've  turned  it  over  in  my  mind  a  hundred 
times  and  more.  Sometimes  when  I  hear  Jesse 
being  praised  so,  and  getting  a  gentleman,  and 
seeing  foreign  parts,  and  such — I  have  an  ill-feeling 
that  I  can't  master.  I  wonder  at  God  who  made 
him  to  have  all  the  good  things — the  farm  and  the 
stock,  tJiat  pays  so  well,  and  mother's  beauty  coming 
out  in  him,  and  the  quick  clever  ways,  and  the  ways 
of  making  himself  loved,  and  such  like.  It 's  not 
that  I  'm  displeased  to  be  here,  Mistress  Judith  " — 
Amos  looked  down  at  his  big  foot  and  moved  it 
again — "only  I  sometimes  think,  if  I  could  have  a 
turn  at  the  wheel— why  I'm  strong,  much  stronger 
than  Jesse  in  my  body ;  and  I  've  got  on  a  bit  with 
reading  and  writing  and  such, — and  it  was  that  I 
was  going  to  tell  you,  Mistress  Judith,  if  you  please, 


WITH    AMOS.  75 

since  you  seemed  to  want  to  know  what  for  I  sit 
up  of  nights.  I  do  it  to  learn  to  read,  and  to  get 
up  a  bit  of  Latin.  And  some  nights  I  write  ;  and 
I  learn  a  bit  of  grammar.  I  think  sometimes  if 
the  wheel  turns,  and  I  get  my  hand  on  it  as  well  as 
Jesse — why  it  may  be  of  use  to  me,  and  give  me  a 
hand  on.  And  if  not,  why  it  makes  me  more  fit 
to  be  in  your  company.  Mistress  Judith.  That 's 
why  I  began  it— I  can't  tell  you  a  lie.  I  began 
it  because  I  thought  I  might  stand  higher  with 
you,  because  I  durstn't  come  into  the  garden  and 
feel  I  was  only  a  coarse  stupid  labourer — -that  's 
what  Jesse  told  me  I  was,  after  his  own  fashion,  last 
time  but  one  that  he  was  here.  And  though  the 
ambition  's  rose — what  there  is  of  it  since  then — it 's 
a  very  small  part  of  me.  I  know  I  'm  mostly  con- 
tent in  the  fields  watching  the  reaping  and  the 
sowing,  that  I  've  no  mind  to  be  a  scholar  like  Jesse 
— nor  yet  a  soldier.  But  I  can't  stand  low  in  your 
sight.  Mistress  Judith,  and  I  'd  as  lief  not  stand  low 
with  Jesse.  And  I  'm  not  too  dull  nor  too  good  to 
have  a  thought  of  things  higher  than  keeping  the 
farm  for  him  ;  and  " — Amos  had  covered  his  face 
with  his  hand,  but  Judith  could  hear  his  voice 
tremble — "and  when  T  think  my  life's  going,  and 
how    much    may  hang   on   my   doing  something  for 


76  UNDER    !■  HE    PORCH 

myself  and  that — why  then,  God  forgive  me,  Mistress 
Judith,  I  have  evil  thoughts  against  God  and  Jesse." 

"Amos,"  said  Judith,  holding  out  her  little  hand  to 
him,  while  her  ball  of  worsted  ran  out  into  the  moon- 
light and  startled  Bully  from  his  dreams — "  pray  God 
to  master  the  thoughts  for  you,  and  don't  have  evil 
thoughts  against  me,  whatever..  Let  us  two  be 
friends,  and  help  each  other  on.  We  've  known  each 
other  for  a  long  while,  Amos.  I  am  very  glad 
you  've  spoken  out  so  free  to  me  to-night.  I  've  got 
no  sister  you  see,  Amos,  and  I  've  evil  thoughts  as 
well  as  you.  I  sometimes  think  I  'd  like  to  see 
the  Vv'orld  too;  but  let  us  bide  at  our  posts  for  a  while, 
Amos,  and  then  God  will  show  us  the  way.  May  be 
father '11  be  a  Bishop,  and  go  to  London,  and  where '11 
you  be,  Amos,  eh.-*  What 's  that.?"  she  said  suddenly, 
and  before  Amos  could  stop  her  she  had  run  down 
the  path,  and  was  at  the  garden  gate. 

"Come  back  !  Mistress  Judith,"  said  Amos  under  his 
breath.  "  Cojne  back  I "  But  he  retreated  under  the 
shadow  of  the  porch  instead  of  following  her. 

She  came  back,  for  she  did  not  like  the  face  that 
met  hers  as  she  looked  round  the  corner  down  the 
road.     And  report  had  strengthened  her  dislike. 

"  It's  Paxton  Dick,"  said  she,  looking  rather 
frightened.     "  He  said  he  'd  spilt  his   basket   by  the 


WITH    AMOS.  'j'J 

road-side.  He  has  an  ill  face,  Amos,  that  man — 
I  mislike  it  greatly." 

"Ay,  and  an  ill  tongue,"  said  Amos,  looking 
disturbed  ;  "  I  'd  as  lief  he  hadn't  spilt  his  wares 
just  in  your  pathway.  And  I  think  I  '11  wish  you 
good-night  now.  Mistress  Judith,  seeing  it's  getting 
late." 

He  looked  round  as  he  stepped  away  slowly. 
But  it  was  not  so  much  at  Mistress  Judith  as  with  a 
vague  hope  that  he  might  see  the  Parson,  and  get 
him  to  walk  down  a  bit  of  the  way  with  him. 

"  I  'd  do  something  to  still  that  tongue,"  said  he 
as  he  opened  the  gate  ;  "  he  's  as  like  as  not  to  say 
evil  things  of  her.  God  knows  she  needn't  fear,  and 
I  don't.  But  there 's  a  saying,  If  you  cast  enough 
mud,  some  of  it  '11  stick.  And  he 's  a  foul  hand  at 
making  mud  and  pitching  it." 

Amos  was  too  shy  of  Parson  Ingrey  to  disturb  him 
in  his  study.  So  he  went  on  alone,  and  presently 
came  upon  the  hawker. 

He  pretended  to  be  busy  with  his  wares,  and  not 
to  see  Amos,  who  however  stood  still  before  him, 
and   forced  him  to  look   up. 

"Good  evening,  sir!"  said  he  with  a  leer,  still 
pushing  some  newspapers  under  the  eggs  at  the 
bottom  of  his  basket. 


78  UNDER    THE    PORCH    WITH    AMOS. 

"  How  came  you  to  trip  just  now?"  asked  Amos; 
"  you  aren't  generally  so  apt  to  stumble,  eh  ?  and 
you  came  down  very  lightly  since  I  didn't  hear 
you  r 

"May  be  you  heard  better  things!"  he  replied 
with  a  repulsive  grin,  as  he  shouldered  his  basket. 

"  Else  I  were  not  well  off!"  returned  Amos  sternly; 
and  so  took  the  road  to  Trotter's  End. 

Judith  could  not  keep  awake  till  three  ;  and  she 
took  care  the  moonlight  should  not  awake  her  again. 
But  at  eleven  o'clock  she  looked  out  of  her  lattice, 
and  there  was  the  light  at  Trotter's  End  twinkling 
through  the  trees. 

Paxton  Dick,  who  kept  unseasonable  hours,  saw 
the  light  too.  It  had  been  a  matter  of  interest 
to  him  for  a  long  time  past. 


CHAPTER  X. 

JESSE  BULLEN'S  letter. 

JESSE  BULLEN'S  letter  from  Paris  lay  open 
on  the  Parson's  table.  Over  it  sat  the  Parson 
in  a  day-dream. 

Say  rather  a  night-dream ;  for  it  was  past  twelve 
o'clock,  and  the  oil  of  his  lamp  began  to  sliow  signs 
of  being  exhausted,  and  spurted  and  flickered  spas- 
modically, throwing  long  shadows  over  the  walls  and 
drawing  them  back  again,  as  if  it  were  conscious  of 
its  little  power  over  the  realms  of  darkness,  and  were 
playing  out  its  game  before  it  gave  its  last  sob  and 
died. 

The  Parson  was  an  early  riser  and  a  late  sitter- 
up.  He  did  what  few  can  do  with  impunity, 
lengthened  his  days  at  both  ends. 

When  first  his  wife  had  died,  his  vigils  had  been 
sad  enough  :  sitting  up  in  the  silent  house,  looking 
out  of  his  study  window,  to  catch  the  glimmer  of 
the  comfortless  cold  stars ;  and  seeing  instead  a 
nearer  glimmer  thrown  athwart  the  garden — a  glim- 


8o  JESSE    nULLEN'S    LETTER. 

mer  from  the  window  in  the  gable  end,  that  told 
him  (when  a  fitful  wail  did  not)  of  the  little  mother- 
less baby  that  strange  hands  were  tending  for  him 
up  there. 

It  was  rather  a  weight  to  him  then,  this  helpless 
little  legacy.  How  should  he  bring  her  up,  he  who 
knew  nothing  of  women  and  women's  ways  .-' 

Now  the  vigils  were  not  sad,  they  were  very  calm 
and  peaceful :  and  wrapped  in  thought  the  hours 
went  quickly  by.  The  little  legacy  had  come  up 
somehow  ;  for  his   life  he  could  not  tell  how ! 

He  had  had  masters  for  her,  had  he  ?  Not  he. 
Mr.  Cocks  had  come  from  the  village,  had  been 
given  a  word  of  warning  and  reproof  at  the  ignor- 
ance of  his  scholars,  had  excused  himself  on  the 
plea  of  their  stupidity,  and  had  agreed  to  under- 
take the  education  of  Mistress  Judith. 

From  that  moment  the  Parson  was  happy.  Mis- 
tress Judith  was  educated.  Mr.  Cocks  was  a  proud 
man. 

With  boots  polished,  face  soaped,  his  limp  shirt- 
cuffs  turned  back  and  adjusted,  and  his  moist  hand 
filled  with  sugar-plums,  day  by  day  he  crossed  the 
churchyard,  knocked  at  the  door,  scraped  his  throat 
as  he  sat  waiting  in  the  dining-room,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  set  Mistress  Judith's  sums.  , 


JESSE  bullen's  letter.  8i 

Shyly  he  always  administered  his  "  goodies  :  "  and 
at  first  they  were  eagerly  accepted  and  eaten.  But 
an  unusually  hot  day  made  Mistress  Judith  change 
her  mind  ;  the  goodies  in  their  transfer  across  the 
churchyard  had  cemented  themselves  into  a  shiny 
lump,  and  the  colour  rushed  hotly  into  her  face 
when  as  usual  they  were  offered  to  her. 

She  had  a  little  struggle  with  herself  for  an 
instant,  while  the  uninviting  morsel  stuck  between 
her  fingers. 

"Don't  you  like  them,  please,  Mistress  Judith.^" 
inquired  Mr.  Cocks,  scraping  his  throat  uneasily,  as 
he  sent  his  pencil  swiftly  across  the  slate  with  a 
screech,  and  then  scraped  his  throat  again  at  having 
done  it. 

"  Please,"  said  Mistress  Judith  at  last,  very  humbly 
— "  they're  rather  wetted  to-day — please,  I  'd  rather 
not."  And  after  that  they  always  came  twisted  up 
in  paper. 

But  Mistress  Judith,  when  once  she  had  put  her 
shoulder  to  the  wheel,  was  an  apt  scholar.  At 
fourteen  Mr.  Cocks  declared  her  education  to  be 
finished.  And  finished  it  was  as  far  as  he  was 
concerned.  From  henceforth  she  read  learned  books 
with  her  father  (though  she  hated  "  bookworms "), 
opened   her  great   eyes   over  their  wonders,   opened 


82  JESSE    BULLEN'S    LETTER. 

her  great  child-like  heart  to  their  teachings,  grew 
wise  beyond  her  years  in  so  far  as  book  learning 
and  thinking  went,  and  remained  a  child  still; 
ignorant  of  the  wise  ways  of  the  wicked  world? 
ignorant  of  conventionalities,  judging  right  and  wrong 
by  God's  Word  first,  by  her  own  pure  heart  next, 
by  her  father's  and  Master  Hurst's  example  last. 

There  were  certain  shelves  in  the  bookcase  with 
old  dusty  volumes  in  them  that  she  had  become 
as  familiar  with  at  seventeen  as  with  the  roses  in 
the  garden.  She  did  not  know  which  she  loved 
best ;  the  old  musty  books  with  their  quaint  say- 
ings and  startling  revelations,  or  the  great  dewy 
roses  that  she  dreamt  about,  and  smiled  over  in 
her  sleep — that  she  woke  to  see  looking  up  at  her 
out  of  the  garden,  calling  to  her  with  their  speechful 
silence  to  come  out  "and  be  their  sun," 

I  daresay  she  read  some  evil  things  in  those 
musty  books  some  days.  No  one  forbad  her,  no 
one  laid  a  ban  on  this  book  or  on  that.  But 
as  roses  grow  on  dung-heaps,  and  fair  lilies  upon 
graves,  and  are  untainted,  so  was  it  with  Mistress 
Judith  and  her  child-like  mind.  Much  that  she 
read  that  would  have  been  vile  to  some,  had  no 
meaning  for  her,  much  passed  from  her  like  a  tran- 
sient  troubled    dream.      "  There   are    bad   things  in 


JESSE    BULLEN'S    letter.  83 

the  world,  that's  certain,"  she  would  say  to  herself, 
shutting  her  book  and  getting  on  a  chair  to  put 
it  back.  "  And  there  are  bad  men  too.  But  I 
don't  know  what  the  things  are,  and  I  don't  want 
to  know.  And  I  'm  not  hkely  to  come  across  bad 
folks,  because  there  are  so  few  of  them  left  in  the 
world." 

Blessed  Mistress  Judith  !  who  judged  of  the  world 
by  her  own  heart,  by  her  father  and  Master  Hurst. 

So  she  had  come  up  "  somehow : "  God  and 
nature  had  taken  her  in  hand. 

And  it  was  of  her  that  the  Parson  sat  thinking 
by  his  flickering  lamp,  though  Jesse  Bullen's  letter 
lay  open  before  him. 

Partly  of  her  and  partly  of  the  letter. 

As  she  stood  over  him  with  her  warm  lips  on  his 
forehead,  saying,  "  Open  it  and  see,  you  forgetful 
father ! "  his  eye  had  fallen  on  something  in  the 
letter  which  he  did  not  care  for  her  to  read.  So 
he  had  taken  it  from  her,  and  she,  only  hoping 
"  nothing  was  wrong  with  Jesse,"  had  gone  out 
with  Amos  under  the  porch. 

Jesse  Bullen's  letter  was  to  intimate  that  he  w-as 
coming  home.  It  was  July  now  ;  he  should  be  home 
by  the  middle  of  August.  "  Along  with  harvest," 
Jesse's    father    would    have    said,   for  all    things  and 


84  JESSE  bullen's  letter. 

times  in  Haslington  dated  from  and  to  harvest.  But 
Jesse  had  been  nearly  a  year  abroad  ;  Jesse  was 
going  to  be  an  officer ;  Jesse  had  quite  given  up 
Haslington  ways  and  words. 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  one  part 
of  Jesse's  letter  that  made  the  Parson  think  of 
Judith.  Men,  even  absent  men,  prick  up  their 
mental  ears  and  think,  when  some  one  stretches  out 
a  feeler  ever  so  delicately,  and  it  points  towards 
their  one  treasure,  their  one  ewe-iamb. 

Jesse  Bullen  did  not  name  Mistress  Judith  till  the 
close  of  the  letter,  where  he  sent  her  his  respects ; 
yet  the  Parson  felt  that  the  thought  of  her  had 
coloured  this  letter.  And  Jesse  meant  it  to  be  so. 
Jesse  was  very  cautious  ;  it  was  one  of  his  strong 
points.  He  might  have  been  a  Scotchman.  But 
he  had  something  more  useful,  and  with  him  more 
prominent  than  caution :  it  was  tact.  He  knew 
exactly  how  much  to  say  without  giving  the  Par- 
son alarm  or  offence ;  exactly  how  much  to  suggest 
without  compromising  himself  at  all.  It  was  a 
year  since  he  had  seen  Mistress  Judith;  he  was  a 
mere  schoolboy  then.  Now — an  officer,  at  least  on 
the  eve  of  becoming  an  officer.  The  next  examina- 
tion would  determine  his  career.  About  this  very 
point  of  the  examination,  he  was  not  quite  at  rest ; 


JESSE    BULLEN'S    letter.  85 

but  of  this  naught  transpired  in  his  letter.  As  to 
Mistress  Judith — well,  he  might,  and  he  might  not. 
It  was  just  as  well  to  put  a  paving-stone  down;  just 
one  small  one,  in  case  when  he  returned  home  he 
might  like  to  use  it  in  laying  others.  That  was 
all. 

The  Parson  was  not  startled  at  his  own  thoughts, 
or  the  tone  of  the  letter.  He  had  thought  it  all  over 
long  ago.  If  Jesse  Bullen  should  love  Judith,  and 
Judith  should  love  Jesse  Bullen — why  they  should 
marry.  Judith  was  better  born,  no  doubt;  her  mother 
was  of  very  gentle  birth,  and  had  a  little  dower  of 
some  thousand  pounds.  But  what  was  birth  to  Par3on 
Ingrey  .''  nothing  except  in  so  far  as  it  made  a  gentle- 
man. And  the  Parson  put  his  hand  upon  Jesse's 
letter,  and  said  it  was  the  letter  of  a  gentleman. 
And  the  Parson  was  right :  in  every  sense  it  was 
the  letter  of  a  gentleman. 

Still  the  lamp  flickered  and  flamed,  and  still  the 
Parson  forgot  to  go  to  bed.  Judith's  chair,  yet  warm 
from  her  presence,  stood  empty  beside  him;  her 
work-basket,  with  the  little  dainty  gold  thimble  that 
had  been  her  mother's,  was  on  the  table  among  the 
dingy  books.  Flowers  were  there,  even  in  that 
sanctum,  A  great  wild  nosegay  tumbled  over  a  tall 
vase  on  a  little  table  by  the  window.     A  specimen 


86  JESSE  bullen's  letter. 

glass  he  had  brought  her  from  Cambridge  was  hold- 
ing up  sister  roses  to  the  lamp-light.  Pins  were 
scattered  here  and  there;  little  scissors  lay  agape  on 
Virgil's  back.  And  meshes  of  black  thread  were 
winding  themselves  round  the  Parson's  feet  as  he 
crossed  and  uncrossed  his  legs  unconsciously,  and 
passed  his  fingers  through  his  hair. 

He  noticed  none  of  these  things ;  yet  somehow 
he  was  aware  of  them  all.  A  woman's  presence 
had  grown  up  into  his  life  ;  there  were  the  marks  of 
her  all  about  him.  Womanly  arrangements,  womanly 
untidinesses,  womanliness  in  all  its  forms  and  phases 
was  there. 

How  could  he  part  with  her?  Well,  he  need 
not  think  about  that  yet.  He  took  the  roses  be- 
tween his  large  fingers  gingerly,  and  smelt  them. 
He  did  not  care  much  for  flowers  ;  not  very  much  ; 
he  thought  they  were  unintelligible  things,  very. 

But  now  he  was  always  seeing  them — always 
living  amongst  them.  And  Judith  had  put  the  roses 
there. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

ANOTHER   LETTER. 

I^^HAT  same  night,  while  the  Parson  dreamed  in 
his  arm-chair  and  Paxton  Dick  watched  the 
hght  at  Trotter's  End,  the  russet  head  of  Amos 
Bullen  was  bent  over  a  letter  that  was  not  Jesse's. 

But  it  would  be  Jesse's  very  soon. 

Amos's  great  hand  was  moving  steadily  and  care- 
fully over  the  paper.  His  smooth  brows  were,  bent ; 
his  great  elbows  were  squared.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  seen  of  the  large  clear  eyes  for  the  shock  of 
locks  fallen  forwards,  and  the  intentness  with  which 
he  pursued  his  task ;  blotting  each  page  as  it  was 
finished  with  a  resolute  thump  and  smooth  ;  never 
pausing  till  the  fourth  was  ended,  and  he  had  signed 
a  great  "  Amos  Bullen,"  put  a  dash  underneath  it, 
and  chosen  a  good  clean  envelope,  on  which  he 
dabbed  a  stamp,  and  thumped  it,  before  writing  the 
address. 

Such  a  neat,  clean,  manly  letter  it  was  when  it 
was   finished.     Mr.    Cocks   would   have   been    proud 


88  ANOTHER    LETTER. 

if  he  could  have  turned  out  any  scholar  with  such 
a  fist  as  that ;  but  poor  Mr.  Cocks  lost  all  his  boy- 
pupils  at  eight  years  old.  They  could  earn  half-a- 
crown  a  week  then,  following  the  plough,  or  lead- 
ing great  horses  by  the  mane,  or  riding  them  with 
their  harness  jingling  along  the  dusty  roads.  And 
Amos  had  not  been  at  school  since  many  a  day  : 
he  never  was  meant  to  be  a  scholar,  and  every  one 
took  that  for  granted,  and  gave  him  no  help. 
None — till  Mistress  Judith  was  past  sixteen,  and 
Amos  a  year  older  :  then  it  was  that  lights  began 
to  twinkle  nightly  at  Trotter's  End,  and  Amos  took 
to  helping  himself. 

He  had  not  spoken  of  it  to  any  one,  not  even  to 
his  mother.  And  Amos  and  his  mother  had  most 
things  in  common.  But  something  kept  him  from 
talking  to  her  or  any  one  of  this.  After  all,  with 
all  his  labours,  he  would  be  but  where  any  lad  of 
his  age — a  man  now,  indeed — should  be. 

But  of  this  letter  he  had  spoken  to  his  mother  : 
it  affected  his  own  life  greatly  :  it  might  affect  hers 
not  a  little.  Knowing  nothing  of  the  contents  of 
his  brother's  letter,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
write  to  him,  and  tell  him  that  he  felt  that  the 
time  had  come  for  him  to  be  doing  something  for 
himself:  that  the  five  hundred  pounds  and  the  two 


ANOTHER    LETTER.  89 

fields  his  father  had  left  him  were  not  enough  to 
keep  him  independent :  and  moreover  that  he  was 
thinking  of  travelling  or  improving  himself  for  'a 
time,  of  looking  out  for  a  farm  of  his  own  perhaps, 
.  — at  any  rate  of  taking  some  step  to  better  himself 

Mistress  Bullen,  who  had  alwavs  been  a  little 
jealous  of  Fortune's  favours  to  her  elder  son,  dearly 
as  she  loved  him,  entered  warmly  into  Amos's  plan. 

"  I  '11  write  to  Jesse  too,  dear  son,"  she  said  a.' 
she  kissed  her  Benjamin  that  night,  and  sent  him 
upstairs  with  a  sigh  and  a  blessing.  It  would  be 
a  very  sore  day  for  her  that  dawned  to  see  that 
face  passing  out  of  the  door — a  sad  Sunday  when 
no  Amos  came  to  tell  her  the  bell  was  ringing,  and 
stood  waiting  with  her  big  Prayer-Book  that  had 
been  Master  Bullen's  at  the  door.  And  yet  she 
wanted  him  to  go. 

"  You  see  you  '11  have  Jesse  for  a  good  bit, 
mother,  if  he  comes  home  soon,  as  it 's  likely  he 
will,  especially  if  he  knows  I  'm  going  to  leave  the 
old  place.  That  time  that  he 's  here,  before  the 
examination  comes  off,  I  '11  be  seeing  a  little,  and 
trying  to  set  myself  going  som.ehow.  And  then, 
mother,  I  '11  trv  and  settle  somewhere  near — least- 
ways  if  I   can,"  he  added. 

"  I  '11    fare    well    enough,    son,  —  never    fear,"    said 


qo  ANOTHER    LETTER. 

Mistress   Bullen,   conveying   more   assurance   to  her 
boy  than  she  felt  she  had  to  give  away. 

So  they  had  parted  at  the  bottom  of  the  stair, 
and  Amos  wrote  his  letter. 

He  could  not  help  thinking  as  he  closed  it  of 
Jesse's  surprise  at  the  firm,  neat  address,  and  the 
still  firmer  letter  inside  (for  the  stamp  had  come  a 
little  in  the  way  of  the  address,  and  the  "  Master 
Jesse  Bullen"  had  to  tail  off  across  it).  Amos  was 
no  letter-writer :  he  left  that  to  his  mother ;  and 
this  was  the  first  time  he  had  taken  his  pen  to 
write  to  his  brother  since  they  had  parted  a  year 
before.  He  had  the  farm  accounts  by  him,  to  be 
sure,  ready  to  show  to  Jesse — as  farmer-like  and 
business-like  accounts  as  might  be  wished  by  any 
one,  though  Amos  was  no  "scholar."  But  Jesse 
had  not  seen  these  yet. 

Mistress  Bullen  lay  very  late  awake  that  night, 
and  the  stirring  of  the  farm  at  early  morning  woke 
her  out  of  her  first  sleep. 

She  got  out  of  bed  and  stood  by  the  v/indow, 
wdiich  she  opened.  The  smell  of  hay  from  the 
trreat  ricks  came  sweet  and  fresh  on  the  mornincf 
air.  There  was  no  breeze  yet  ;  night  had  hardly 
died,  and  day  was  not  yet  born.  There  was  just 
the  still  pause  of  dawn. 


ANOTHER    LETTER.  gr 

Sleepy  Jephtha  Parcell,  the  ploughman,  was  lead- 
ing out  the  great  bay  horse  to  water.  The  cock 
shook  out  his  feathers  for  his  first  crow.  Over  the 
flat  horizon  the  sun's  pink  light  was  rising  and 
creeping  ;  little  by  little  the  sky  caught  the  glory  : 
first,  in  the  far  grey  distance,  like  a  cloth  of  gold 
it  fell  over  the  sleeping  land  ;  then  over  the  fields, 
the  hedges,  the  weird  pollards,  the  lazy  streams. 
Lastly,  it  touched  the  Rectory  gable  where  Mistress 
Judith's  window  was. 

"Sweet  heart!"  said  ]\Iistress  Bullen  ;  "  may  God 
greet  her  as  the  sun  does,  and  defend  her  from 
trouble  yet  awhile  !  " 

And  just  then  Amos  Bullen  strode  out  of  the  low 
doorway  at  the  back  (that  was  front  door  to  Jephtha 
Parcell,  the  ploughman,  who  lived  under  the  same 
roof),  and  lifted  his  hat  as  he  stood  looking  out  over 
the  farm.  His  eyes  went  farther  than  the  farm, 
where  his  mother's  had  gone  before  him. 

But  no  "sweet  heart"  came  to  his  lips — he  only 
stood  looking  a  moment  at  the  window-pane  all 
a-flame  through  the  trees.  Then  Jephtha  came 
lumbering  up  for  orders  about  the  dun  mare  ;  and 
Amos  saw  a  gate  open  that  should  be  closed  ;  and 
the  routine  of  another  day  had  begun. 

But  it  was  only  for  a  little  while  longer,  thought 


92  ANOTHER    LETTER. 

Amos.  And  whether  tlie  thought  were  sweet  or 
bitter  he  could  not  tell.  Only  he  must  go — better 
himself  somehow  ;  do  something  to  rise  a  bit  in  the 
world.  Somehow  or  another,  ambition — that  good 
friend  and  that  hard  mistress — had  found  out  quiet 
Amos  Bullen  at  Trotter's  End. 

Meanwhile,  with  a  glorious  annunciation,  the  new 
sun  was  flooding  Mistress  Judith's  room.  She  had 
drawn  the  curtain  half  across  her  window  to  keep 
out  the  moonlight,  but  the  window  was  open,  and 
as  the  winds  began  to  stir  in  the  ivy,  and  the  breeze 
rose  and  sighed  among  the  trees,  it  stirred  the  light 
curtain  too,  and  sent  it  waving  softly  to  and  fro 
like  a  half-filled  sail. 

And  the  sun  poured  itself  out  at  her  feet  as  she 
lay  there  sleeping,  her  full  sweet  face  framed  by  the 
white  softness  of  the  pillow  ;  and  her  abundant  hair 
lying  above  her  like  an  aureole.  And  starlings  gib- 
bered and  chattered  on  the  window-sill,  and  the 
sunbeams  crept  and  crept,  and  the  great  rosebuds 
were  opening  in  the  garden,  waiting  for  Mistress 
Judith  to  come  down. 

But  an  hour,  and  two  hours,  and  three  hours 
passed  before  Bully  and  Mistress  Judith  ran  down 
the  stair  together. 


ANOTHER    LETTER.  93 

Even  then  breakfast  was  not  ready  ;  Ruth  would 
not  or  could  not  be  punctual  at  any  price.  So 
Mistress  Judith  and  Bully  went  over  to  say  good- 
morning  to  Master  Hurst. 

He  kept  a  special  chair  for  her,  with  a  patchwork 
cushion  on  the  seat.  And  there  she  sat  and  read 
the  Morning  Hymn  to  him,  while  he  listened  with 
bent  head,  holding  the  knees  that  had  grown  so  help- 
less, and  oh  !  so  cold.  And  he  looked  at  her  with 
the  sunlight  on  her  hair,  and  then  he  looked  at  the 
^reat  sun  in  heaven.  And  he  wondered  which  were 
most  like  the  "Sun  of  my  soul"  of  which  she  told 
him  in  the  hymn. 

And  then  he  held  her  hand  a  long,  long  while, 
while  she  turned,  half-reluctant,  to  go  home  to 
breakfast.  And  at  last  he  let  her  go,  saying 
feebly, — 

"  May  good  God  bless  'ee,  my  blessed  lady — may 
He  bless  'ee  !" 

"  Ah,  that 's  Mistress  Bullen's  name,  Master  Hurst !" 
said  Judith  smiling. 

"  Ay,  ay — she  be  blessed  too  ;  but  you  be  the 
blessedest  lady  as  I  's  seen  i'  ;//;'  life — I  dunno  what 
I  'd  do  if  you  was  ta'en  away  from  here." 

"/  taken  away,  Master  Hurst  .'' "  she  said — "God 


94  ANOTHER    LETTER. 

forbid  I  should  be  taken  away  !  What  makes  you 
think  such  things  as  that  ? " 

"  /  be  Hker  to  be  ta'en  away,  Mistress — that  I 
be.     But  folks  talks,  Mistress— folks  talks." 

"  Talk  of  what "  began  Mistress  Judith.      But 

she  checked  herself,  and  said  she  would  be  back 
to  see  him  before  evening. 

And  as  she  went  across  the  road,  and  looked  up 
and  down  and  saw  no  one,  she  said  to  herself  that 
Amos  was  right  when  he  said  Paxton  Dick  had  an 
"  ill  tongue."  For  /le  must  have  set  folks  talking 
about  her  being  "  ta'en  away,"  and  who  by,  except 
by  Amos  ? 

And  yet,  she  said,  it  was  not  so  bad  of  Paxton 
Dick  to  say  that  after  all.  It  was  a  foolish  story 
enough,  but  it  did  not  harm  any  one.  She  did  not 
see  that  she  could  accuse  him  of  an  ill  tonsfue. 
She  would  ask  Amos  some  day  what  he  meant 
by  that ;  what  people  did  who  were  born  with 
ill  tongues.  Should  she  tell  him  what  people  said 
about  her  being  "  ta'en  away  ? "  On  the  whole 
she  thought  she  would  not,  but  she  would  see. 
When  an  opportunity  came,  perhaps  she  should 
not  be  able  to  keep  from  telling  him  what  Pax- 
ton    Dick    had    set    about,     and    the     simple    folk 


ANOTHER    LETTER.  95 

had    been    so   silly   as    to    credit.     It   would    amuse 
Amos  so. 

Here  Mistress  Judith  took  a  bound  into  the  house, 
and  kissed  her  father.  She  was  not  quite  sure 
whether  she  were  speaking  the  truth  to  herself. 
Would  it  amuse  Amos — would  it  ? 


CHAPTER    XII. 

HASLINGTON   FEAST. 

WHEN  Mistress  Judith  and  Amos  met  again, 
it  was  the  day  of  Haslington  "  Feast."  By 
that  time  every  one  knew  that  Jesse  Bullen  was 
coming  home. 

But  what  was  Jesse  or  any  one  else  to-day  ? 
Why,  here  was  the  Feast !  the  Feast  that  only 
lasted  two  days  ;  the  Feast  that  came  only  once  a 
year,  on  the  day  of  the  patron  Saint. 

Had  not  all  the  houses  been  newly  whitewashed 
in  honour  of  it  ?  For  days  past  the  village  had 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  put  up  to  auction,  tables 
and  chairs  turned  out  of  doors,  and  busy  house- 
wives standing  on  chairs  sweeping  off  the  cobwebs 
and  putting  on  the  whitewash.  And  now  the  old 
oak  chests  and  tables  were  shining  like  mirrors. 
The  samplers,  in  their  frames,  were  hung  up  anew 
on  the  snowy  walls  ;  from  that  little  one  which 
told  of  the  death  of  the  three  weeks'  baby  that 
had    died    without   a    name,   to    that    large    one  "  In 


HASLINGTON    FEAST.  97 

the  memory  of"  David,  or  Jonathan,  or  Abraham, 
the  old  grandfather,  who  had  passed  away  last  year, 
and  ieft  the  great  arm-chair  empty  in  the  corner. 

Mr.  Cocks  had  shut  up  school ;  no  one  thought  of 
going  to  school  at  such  a  time  as  this.  Two  days 
of  feast,  two  days  of  holiday,  two  days  of  wearing 
Sunday  clothes. 

They  were  all  trooping  and  swarming  out  now  ; 
the  chattering  little  girls  all  combed  and  soaped, 
with  their  best  hats  on.  Whether  it  rained  or  was 
fine,  at  feast  time  all  new  clothes  were  bound  to 
appear.  The  whistling,  lumbering  little  boys,  in 
their  clean  corduroys,  some  dull  and  some  wide- 
awake, but  all  making  for  the  merry-go-round.  The 
trim  matrons,  with  their  shawls  pinned  across  them, 
and  their  grandchildren  or  their  children  walking 
beside  them.  Young  Mistress  Gadd,  and  all  the 
young  wives  and  mothers,  coming  out  cheerful  and 
smiling,  locking  the  door  behind  them,  picking  up 
the  tails  of  their  short  dresses  out  of  the  dust  with 
one  hand,  and  shoving  little  basket  perambulators, 
which  held  their  staring  round-eyed  offspring,  with 
the  other. 

Chatting  together,  exchanging  nods  and  greetings, 
up   they  trooped   to   the   end   of  the  village   nearest 

Trotter's  End. 

G 


98  HASLINGTON    FEAST. 

Meanwhile  Mistress  Judith  sat  in  Master  Hurst's 
garden,  waiting  for  Mistress  Hurst  to  don  her  best 
gown  and  tucker.  He  was  dressed  out  as  bravely 
as  any  beau :  a  pair  of  shepherd-plaid  trousers,  a 
black  satin  waistcoat  flowered  with  red,  and  a  coat 
of  fine  blue  cloth  that  he  had  worn  to  be  married 
in. 

"Ah,  ah!"  he  said,  shaking  his  head,  as  he  lifted 
his  stiff  leg  with  both  hands  and  put  it  down  gin- 
gerly ;  "  there 's  more  dress  now-a-days  than  there 
were  i'  my  time.  On'y  weared  a  smock,  I  did,  all 
my  time  arter  I  married  ;  nice  clean  smock  I  wore. 
And  then,  ye  see,  Missus,  if  the  clothes  wasn't  so 
good,  ye  see,  the  smock  he  made  'em  better — kivered 
'em  up  like.  Ah,  I  had  a  pinch  for  't  sometime, 
I  had  ;  twelve  shilling  a  week,  pay  the  rent  and  eight 
of  a  family." 

"  Sich  a  heavy  family,  my  dear,  ye  see,"  said 
Mistress  Hurst  from  upstairs,  where  she  was  hooking 
her  dress,  and  ramming  her  nether  garments  into  it, 
by  the  window. 

"  But  you  've  got  a  fine  blue  coat,  Master  Hurst," 
said  Judith ;   "  father  hasn't  got  a  better." 

"Didn't  buy  it,  my  blessed  lady,  nor  yet  didn't 
ask  for  it" 

"  We  never  ask  for  nothin',  my  dear,  ye  see,"  from 


HASLINGTON    FEAST.  99 

Mistress  Hurst,  still  upstairs,  and  still  struggling  with 
the  hooks,  and  talking  thickly,  with  two  pins  in  her 
mouth. 

'•  1  'm  sure  you  didn't.  Master  Hurst  ;  I  don't 
believe  you  ever  asked  for  anything  in  your  life 
except  from  God,"  said  Judith. 

"  That 's  right,  my  dear,  that  's  right ! "  from 
Mistress  Hurst,  upstairs. 

"  Ay,  that 's  right.  Missus ;  never  ast  'cept  from 
God." 

And  Master  Hurst  went  on  shaking  his  head, 
holding  his  knees,  looking  at  his  boots,  and  lifting  his 
leg  by  turns,  while  he  mumbled  feebly,  "  'cept  from 
God  ;    never  ast  'cept  from   God." 

And  then  the  garden  gate  clicked,  and  the  little 
garden  v/alk  shook  under  the  great  approaching  feet 
of  Amos  BuUen. 

Afterwards,  there  was  a  time  when  Judith  remem- 
bered the  look  that  his  face  wore  that  day ;  remem- 
bered how  his  eye  had  rested  on  her  first,  with  an 
expression  that  had  startled  her,  and  made  her  think 
it  was  a  hotter  day  than  it  had  been  before.  Remem- 
bered how  fair  and  open  his  eyes  had  been  as  he 
stood  by  Master  Hurst's  cliair,  with  his  head  un- 
covered, while  the  old  man  blessed  him  ;  remembered 
too,  how  the   old   man.    blinking  up  out  of  his  dim 


lOO  HASLINGTON     FEAST. 

eyes,  that  still  had  the  eagle-look  in  them,  had 
searched  Amos's  face  with  the  tender  piercing  scrutiny 
that  is  the  especial  privilege  of  age,  while  he  said 
thickly,  for  his  speech  now  was  very  thick, — 

"  I  hears  as  'ee  be  going  away ;  well,  God  He 
knows  ;  I  knows  I  'd  like  ye  were  going  to  bide  here 
— I  likes  the  looks  o'  you — you  favours  your  father, 
you  du,  and  he  were  a  good  man.  I  wish  'ee  could 
bide  while  I  lastes ;  but  I've  got  my  blessed  lady 
here;  she'll  mind  me,  that  she  will;  she'll  take 
keer  o'  me." 

"  He  thinks  a  deal  of  Mistress  Judith,  that  he  du, 
sir,"  said  Mistress  Hurst,  who  had  now  got  to  her 
bonnet  strings.  "  He  thinks  a  sight  more  of  her 
'an  he  do  of  me." 

Amos  looked  at  Judith  :  she  thought  he  looked  a 
little  sorrowful.  She  was  not  of  that  mind  :  she  felt 
very  merry  and  glad. 

"■^  He  doesn't  think  anything  of  me.  Master  Hurst," 
she  said,  mischievously  pointing  to  Amos. 

Master  Hurst  looked  up  almost  wrathfully  at 
Amos,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  If  'ee  doant ;  why,  then,  it's  time  'ee  dii,  master ; 
it's  time  you  minded  what  she  said!  I've  minded 
many  a  day  what  she  said  ;  since  she  were  a  little 
'un,  couldn't  hardly  talk ;    she  restes  her  hand  here 


HASLINGTON    FEAST.  lOI 

on  my  knee,  and  says  she,  '  If  you  're  a  good  man, 
Master  Hurst,  God  '11  take  'ee  to  heaven,'  says  she." 

"  She  were  a  wonderful  wise  audacious  child,  she 
were,"  said  Mistress  Hurst,  who  had  at  last  come 
down,  and  was  dropping  the  house-key  into  her 
deep  pocket. 

Then  they  went  off  to  the  Feast,  Master  Hurst 
in  the  chair,  Amos  wheeling  him.  Mistress  Judith 
on  one  side,  Mistress  Hurst  on  the  other. 

And  opposite  the  "  Lamb's  Head,"  at  the  end  of 
the  village,  just  where  the  road  branched  off  to 
Trotter's  End  one  way  and  to  Paxton  the  other,  was 
the  Feast. 

It  was  a  sight  to  make  rustic  hearts  glad.  Three 
booths,  all  in  a  row,  along  the  dusty  road-side. 
In  one  cakes  and  sweetmeats,  in  one  toys  and  trum- 
pery, in  one  drapery,  pins  and  needles,  tapes  and 
threads.  Further  on  the  merry-go-round,  and  still 
further  on  the  dancing-booth. 

"  That's  where  1  want  to  go,  Amos!"  said  Judith. 
"  Here,  Master  Hurst,  we  will  pull  you  into  the  shade, 
and  you  can  watch  Tommy  Bullcn  on  the  merry-go- 
round — because  I  'm  going  to  the  dancing-booth  with 
Amos." 

"  They  don't  dance  till  night,  IMistress  Judith,"  said 
Amos. 


I02  HASLINGTON    FEAST. 

"  Oh,  what  a  pity !  Not  till  night  ?  I  should  so 
have  liked  to  see  them  dancing!  I  never  saw  a  lot 
of  people  all  dancing  together — did  you  ?  What 
can  we  do  then,  Amos  ?  Oh,  I  know !  get  some- 
thing for  Jesse.  Here,  here  's  a  gingerbread  man — 
that'll  do  for  him;  and  here's  a  woman,  a  ginger- 
bread woman — that  shall  be  for  you,  Amos  !  Here, 
take  your  woman  !  I  'm  going  to  keep  the  man  for 
Jesse." 

Then  she  went  and  bought  a  pair  of  mittens  for 
Master  Hurst. 

"Green,  my  lady,  or  white,  my  lady.''"  asked  the 
frowsy  bronzed  woman  at  the  stall. 

"Well,  green,  I  think,"  said  Judith,  meditating. 
"  I  can  knit  myself,  you  know ;  only  it  takes  me  a 
long  time.  Master  Hurst  would  catch  cold  before 
I  had  cot  them  done.  That  is  Master  Hurst  in  the 
chair  there ;  you  can  see  the  sort  of  size  of  hand  he 
has  got."  And  then  she  pulled  out  a  long'  knitted 
purse  that  Ruth  had  made  her,  with  steel  rings  upon 
it,  and  took  out  a  new  sixpence  to  pay  for  the  mittens. 

After  that  she  bought  a  hood  for  her  little  Gadd 
god-child,  and  a  toy  for  this  child,  and  a  yard  of 
flannel  for  another  that  was  sickly. 

Then  Tommy  BuUen.  who  was  no  relation  of  the 
farmer's  of  Trotter's  End,  except  in  so  far  as  a  sort  of 


HASLINGTON    FEAST.  103 

clanship  makes  relations,  but  a  great  pet  of  Judith's, 
was  brought  up  to  choose  what  he  liked. 

There  were  a  great  many  things  on  the  "  sweetie  " 
stall  that  made  his  little  mouth  water,  but  mother 
had  told  him  to  be  sure  and  choose  "  summut  to 
put  on,"  if  Mistress  Judith  should  be  so  kind  as 
offer  him  a  keepsake. 

There  was  a  pile  of  gorgeous  handkerchiefs  lying 
on  the  draper's  booth  ;  they  had  white  grounds,  like 
other  handkerchiefs,  but,  unlike  other  handkerchiefs, 
they  were  emblazoned  with  goodly  pictures  ;  under 
each  picture  was  a  long  inscription,  and  in  every 
picture  and  in  every  inscription  was  a  moral. 

Little  Tommy  Bullen  looked  long  and  lovingly  at 
them.  Everything  else  was  so  dull  at  that  stall — 
boots,  corduroys,  stockings,  pattens. 

" Well,  Tommy,"  said  Judith,  "will  you  have  one 
of  these  ? " 

"  Please,  'am,"  said  Tommy  shyly.  "  is  it  summut 
to — to  put  on  .'' " 

"It's  something  to  wear,"  said  Judith,  guessing 
what  the  case  was.  "  Here,  Amos,  cut  this  off,  will 
you,  for  little  Tommy  .'' " 

And  Amos  came  forward  and  bent  over  the  stall 
beside  Judith,  while  he  made  a  slit  with  his  big  knife 
in  the  chosen  handkerchief     And  just   then   Paxton 


I04  HASLINGTON    FEAST. 

Dick  passed  by,  with  his  basket  full  of  eggs  and  news- 
papers. 

Paxton  Dick  always  seemed  to  have  a  leer  in  his 
face  when  he  looked  up.  Usually  he  went  along  with 
his  head  down,  as  tramps  do.  But  now  he  looked  up, 
and  there  was  the  leer,  sure  enough. 

Amos  could  have  stamped  with  vexation,  that  just 
as  he  stood  close  to  Mistress  Judith,  cutting  the  hand- 
kerchief she  held,  that  "  ill-tongue "  should  have 
passed  by. 

Very  soon  the  delights  of  the  Feast  were  over  for 
Judith.  It  was  past  seven  o'clock,  and  the  men  who 
had  come  home  from  work  were  joining  the  women, 
and  going  out  and  in  to  the  "  Lamb's  Head." 

"It's  time  you  were  home,  Mistress  Judith,"  said 
Amos. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  1  think  it  is ;  because  perhaps 
father 's  got  home  from  Cambridge.  You  'II  walk 
back  with  us,  Amos,  won't  you,  and  push  the  chair?" 

Amos  knew  they  should  pass  Paxton  Dick  again. 
But  there  was  no  choice ;  he  could  not  refuse  to 
push  the  chair. 

When  they  had  seen  Master  Hurst  home,  Amos 
crossed  the  road  and  opened  the  Rectory  gate  for 
Judith. 

"  Wait  one  minute,"  said  she,  as  he  began  to  say 


HASLINGTON    FEAST.  I05 

good    night ;    "  wait    till    I    see    if  father    has    come 
back." 

He  saw  the  house  was  unlighted,  and  he  heard 
Judith's  clear  voice  calling  Ruth  through  the  house. 
Presently  she  ran  out  again. 

"  Oh,  Amos !  it 's  so  dark  and  wretched  in  the 
house — at  least  it 's  worse  than  dark,  it 's  half  light ; 
father  hasn't  come]  home,  and  I  can't  find  Ruth. 
Won't  you  take  me  back  to  see  the  dancing  in  the 
booth?" 

Her  voice  pleaded  as  much  as  her  words.  She 
stood  there  in  the  gloaming,  with  her  little  hand 
upon  the  gate,  looking  up  into  his  face,  and  waiting 
foY  his  answer. 

Amos's  heart  beat  fast  and  high.  How  sweet  it 
would  be  walking  up  there  with  her  in  the  twilight 
alone — through  the  village,  among  the  people — hear- 
ing them  "  talk,"  as  rumour  told  him  they  were  talk- 
ing already — talking  of  what,  of  what  ? 

The  blood  was  pulsing  through  the  great  heated 
veins  in  Amos's  forehead.  He  was  hardly  himself 
''  Come !"  he  said,  quickly.  And  Mistress  Judith 
came. 

They  were  close  to  the  outskirts  of  the  little  crowd 
and  the  laughing  and  talking  of  men,  who  had  had 
more  beer  than  was  good  for  them,  grated  on  Judith's 


Io6  HASLINGTON    FEAST. 

ear.  Amos  stopped.  He  snatched  Mistress  Judith's 
hand  suddenly  and  held  it. 

"Amos!"  said  she,  in  a  tone  of  frightened  sur- 
prise. 

"  I  've  done  wrong,  Mistress  Judith,"  he  said, 
recovering  himself  hastily,  and  dropping  her  hand. 
"  The  booth  is  no  place  for  you  to  see.  You  must 
jTo  home." 

And  just  then,  tramp,  tramp,  Paxton  Dick  passed 

by. 


CHAPTER   XITL 

HARVESTING. 

THE  aversion  of  Amos  and  the  Haslington  folk 
at  large  to  this  Paxton  Dick  needs  some 
explanation. 

In  the  first  place — and  it  was  no  small  offence  in 
Haslington — Paxton  Dick  was  a  stransrer.  What 
right  had  he  to  settle  in  the  place — he,  who  did  not 
even  belong  to  Paxton,  but  had  been  a  stranger 
there  too — he,  who  had  settled  there,  then  left  it 
because  the  place  was  too  hot  to  hold  him,  and 
had  brought  his  wares,  his  great  basket,  and  his  ill 
tou'/uo  to  Haslington  ? 

The  fact  of  his  being  a  stranger  told  even  more 
asrainst  him  than  the  bad  character  he  brouiiht. 
Why,  being  a  stranger  was  a  bad  character  in 
itself! 

But  the  tale  that  stuck  to  him,  and  that  made 
men  shun  him,  was  a  sin,  often  unpunishable,  and 
so   all    the    more    frowned    upon    by  public   opinion, 


io8 


HARVESTING. 


which    has    after    all    its    own    code,    and    its    own 
punishments. 

Paxton  Dick,  Avith  th-  malice  that  hugs  itself  in 
itself,  and  loves  evil  for  the  sake  of  finding  it  out 
and  bringing  it  to  light,  had,  by  a  small  modicum 
of  truth,  a  thousand  sneaking  ways  and  watchings, 
and  the  propitious  concurrence  of  circumstances, 
been  enabled  to  blast  the  prospects  and  foul  the 
name  of  two  separate  people  in  Paxton. 

Having  accomplished  that  masterly  feat,  since 
when  the  leer  had  never  left  his  shiny  countenance, 
he  had  suddenly  found  himself  unpopular.  The  men 
he  had  ruined  were  safely  away — one  in  prison,  the 
other  self-banished  from  the  place.  But  it  seemed 
as  if  his  rose  must  have  its  thorns.  Women  shunned 
him,  fearing  for  their  good  name  ;  men  shunned  him, 
for  the  sake  of  his  own  good  name  that  was  gone. 
So  he  awoke  one  morning  to  find  Paxton  too  hot 
to  hold  him,  as  we  have  said,  and  tramped  off 
hastily  to  Haslington. 

He  was  the  one  man  in  the  place  with  whom  the 
Parson  was  not  popular.  The  Parson  indeed  had 
a  great  dislike  to  the  man,  more  founded  on  his 
appearance  and  sneaking  expression  than  on  any 
talcs, — for  the  tales  passed  quickly  enough  from  his 
mind,    and    he   could    hardly   have    told    whether  he 


HARVESTING.  I09 

had  heard  any.  And  Paxton  Dick  returned  the  dis- 
h'lce  twofold.  lie  had  nothing  to  hope  from  the 
Parson,  whose  sins  and  shortcomings,  if  he  had  any, 
were  of  a  negative  kind — sins  of  omission  rather  than 
commission.  And  Paxton  Dick  liked  something 
positive,  however  small,  to  work  upon. 

He  busied  himself  greatly  in  other  folks'  affairs, 
knew  things  before  any  one  else  did,  and  so,  in  the 
monotony  of  village  life,  where  a  little  talk  of  one's 
neighbours  or  one's  betters  is  pleasant  and  acceptable, 
gained  a  hearing  outside  many  doors  while  he  sold 
his  eggs  and  papers,  where  he  would  not  on  any 
account  be  allowed  to  cross  the  threshold.  He  was 
clever, — there  was  no  doubt  of  that,  and  travelled 
too  ;  he  often  went  to  Cambridge,  and  his  fine  stories 
and  his  wise  sayings  carried  conviction  with  them, 
when  the  women  stood  with  their  arms  a-kimbo, 
saying  "  That 's  right,  that 's  quite  right  !  " — and  the 
children  peered  into  the  basket  at  the  eggs,  that  were 
always  "  newly  laid,"  and  had  their  fingers  slapped 
for  touching  them,  and  then  kissed  to  make  them  well 


agam. 


So  Paxton  Dick  was  not  the  last  to  hear  that 
Gentleman  Bullen  was  coming  home.  For  "Farmer 
Bullen,"  as  Amos  was  now  called  among  the  people, 
he  had  no  affection.     And  then  where  would  lie  be 


no  HARVESTING. 

now  ?  Nowhere.  The  rising  sun  was  Jesse,  doubtless. 
And  Paxton  Dick  (perhaps  because  he  kept  unseason- 
able hours)  loved  rising  suns  in  general.  For  a  long 
time  past  he  had  mapped  his  path,  and  now  lie  waited 
Vv'ith  no  little  impatience  for  Gentleman  Bullen's 
advent. 

This  was  to  be  with  harvest,  and  a  month  after 
Haslington  Feast  the  first  sickle  was  laid  to  the  corn. 

It  was  the  second  week  in  August.  A  fine  loner 
summer,  with  just  rain  enough  and  plenty  of  sun,  had 
ripened  the  crops  to  a  golden  perfection. 

Now  a  light  autumn  breeze  had  sprung  up  and 
went  softly  sighing  through  the  waving  fields  ;  the 
oppression  of  July  was  over  ;  the  year  was  poised  on 
the  border-land  between  summer  and  autumn — she 
had  given  a  hand  to  each,  and  stood  coyly  balancing 
herself,  looking  first  one  way,  then  another,  from  day 
to  day  and  hour  to  hour. 

It  is  a  glorious  time  this  August,  this  time  of 
harvesting.  Judith  Ingrey  opened  her  eyes  of  seven- 
teen summers,  and  saw  it  all  as  for  the  first  time, — 
beautiful,  new,  soul-satisfying, — as  poets  see  it. 

Had  she  lived  before  this  time  ?  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  had  not,  at  least  not  in  any  much  higher 
sense  than  her  roses  in  the  garden.  Now  life  was 
throbbing  in  her,  in  a  troubled,  happy  tumult.     She 


HARVESTING.  Ill 

looked  about  her,  and  sighed  from  the  mere  conscious- 
ness of  a  living,  breathing  consciousness.  How 
beautiful  the  world  was  ! — how  good  was  God  1 — how 
happy  she  was,  who  lived  to  see  it  all ! 

She  was  in  an  atmosphere  of  such  peace  and  inno- 
cence and  purity  that  she  looked  out  from  her  dovecot 
and  saw  nothing  else.  And  yet  she  was  conscious  of 
something  more  than  peace  ;  a  new  interest  seemed  to 
have  come  into  the  world,  a  new  light  seemed  hover- 
ing over  common  things,  and  quickening  them,  trans- 
forming them.  Judith  did  not  question  herself  about 
these  things  ;  she  only  said,  '•'  I  live,"  and  was  happy. 
She  said  truly  ;  had  she  said  more  it  had  not  been 
true.  She  did  not  love,  farther  than  that  Vvith  her 
new  "  life  "  a  new  great  love  for  all  things  and  seasons 
and  familiar  faces  had  risen  within  her.  But  the  haze 
— a  little  of  the  golden  haze — that  hung  above  her, 
though  she  did  not  stay  to  question  it,  came  from 
something  outside  of  herself :  that  was  love. 

Hot  summer  days,  that  reddened  and  svv-elled  each 
ear  of  corn,  had  ripened  the  heart  of  Amos  Bullen. 
He  knew  now,  since  he  could  not  choose  but  know  it, 
since  he  was  ever  battling  with  it,  striving  against  it, 
falling  under  it,  that  the  face  of  j\Iistress  Judith  had 
come  into  his  soul,  and  that  he  loved  her.  With  all 
the  strength  of  a  strong,  pure  manhood,  and  of  silence, 


112  HARVESTING. 

he  loved  her.  And  she  sunned  herself  in  it, — that  was 
all.  And  she  was  Mistress  Judith  to  him  still. 
Beautiful — far  above  him,  far  out  of  his  vulgar  reach. 
"  Farmer  BuUen  !  "  he  said  the  words  bitterly  ;  if  he 
were  "  Gentleman  Bullen,"  like  Jesse,  he  might  per- 
haps aspire — might  dare  to  hope.  But  God  had  given 
the  talents  to  one,  and  the  love  to  the  other.  Amos 
thought  God's  ways  were  past  finding  out. 

In  these  days  he  was  very  shy  of  the  Rectory  and 
the  Rectory  gate.  From  afar  off  at  early  morning  he 
loved  to  see  the  sun  saluting  the  trees  that  grew  about 
her  home,  that  sheltered  the  flowers  her  hands  had 
planted.  For  the  window  itself,  it  was  not  aflame 
now  as  in  early  summer.  The  sun  had  gone  a  great 
way  round,  and  harvest  was  come. 

Yes,  harvest  was  come — a  busy,  golden,  beautiful 
time.  Nowhere  more  beautiful  than  in  Haslinsfton 
and  its  sister  villages,  where  nature  has  not  been  pro- 
digal of  her  gifts,  where  there  are  no  hills  and  few 
trees,  and  where  the  colouring  of  sun  and  sky,  and 
changing  seasons,  and  the  busy  scenes  of  country  life 
have  an  unbroken  theatre  to  play  upon. 

On  a  Saturday  morning  Mistress  Judith,  who  had 
been  sitting  on  the  window-seat  in  her  father's  study; 
flung  down  her  book  hastily,  and  pulled  down  her 
straw  hat  from  the  peg  in  the  hall.       She  had  been 


'lARVESTING.  II3 

dreaming    a  long  while  over  the  open  Plato  on  her 
knee. 

"  Well,  Judith,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ? "  asked  the 
Parson. 

"  I  like  it,  father ;  at  least  I  liked  it  last  night,  when 
you  read  it  to  me. — Ah,  that  was  fine,  father,  when  he 
died!" 

She  had  thought  it  very  fine.  Dewy  enough  her 
eyes  were,  and  her  red  lips  quivered,  as  side  by  side 
in  the  lamplight  they  had  read  the  "  Phaedo "  to- 
gether. In  her  eagerness  she  had  followed  each  word, 
repeating  it  aloud  after  her  father,  till  at  last  the  tone 
fell,  and  the  words  trembled,  and  at  length  she  ceased. 
And  Parson  Ingrey's  Voice  went  on  alone — 

"  He  was  beginning  to  grow  cold  about  the  groin, 
when  he  uncovered  his  face,  for  he  had  covered  himself 
up,  and  said  (they  were  his  last  v/ords) — he  said " 

But  "  Oh,  hush,  father — please  stop ! "  broke  in 
Mistress  Judith,  and  the  golden  head  had  gone  down 
upon  the  table  suddenly,  and  she  did  not  look  up  for 
some  time. 

When  she  recovered  herself,  woman-wise  she  looked 
up  and  said  :  "  What  did  he  say,  father  .'' " 

"  Who,  my  dear  .''  "  asked  the  Parson,  who  had  for- 
gotten  about    Socrates,    and    had    gone   on    to    the 

Symposium. 

H 


114  HARVESTING. 

"  Socrates,  father — what  did  he  say  ? "  very  tearfully 
still. 

"  '  Crito,  I  owe  a  cock  to  Asclepius  ' — that  is  what 
he  said,"  replied  the  Parson  drily,  with  the  twinkle  of 
a  smile  in  his  eyes,  at  which  Mistress  Judith  had  first 
said  ''Oh!"  in  a  tone  of  great  disappointment,  and 
then  had  laughed,  and  gone  to  bed. 

Now  she  was  trying  to  read  a  Dialogue  by  da34ight, 
but  it  was  such  daylight,  how  could  she  ?  So  she 
threw  down  the  Plato  and  took  the  straw  hat. 

She  went  to  Master  Hurst's,  but  the  doors  were 
closed. 

"  How  stupid  !  "  she  said  ;  "  this  is  the  first  glean- 
ing day  ! — of  course  every  one  is  out.  I  '11  go  and  see 
them  glean." 

So  she  called  out  "  good  morning"  to  ]\Iaster  Hurst, 
who  was  locked  up  upstairs  till  his  "missus"  came 
home.     And  then  she  made  for  the  field. 

It  was  not  ten  o'clock  yet.  The  haze  of  morning 
had  not  passed  away,  and  the  dew  was  still  trembling 
on  everything  along  her  path.  The  roads  were  dusty 
enough,  but  through  the  little  village  street,  and  out 
beyond  the  last  house,  the  traces  of  the  harvest  lay 
thickly  strewn  over  the  ground.  In  golden  shining 
patches  lay  the  lieavy  ears  of  barley  that  had  fallen 
from  tlie  great  laden  waggons  as  they  passed.     From 


HARVESTING.  II5 

the  trees,  in  a  shimmering  waving  fringe,  the  long 
stems  that  had  been  caught  upward  hung  all  along 
the  road  ;  they  made  a  sort  of  fairy  filmy  arch  for 
Mistress  Judith  as  she  went  blithely  by. 

The  sky  was  clear  and  blue  and  cloudless  and  far 
off;  the  air  was  full  of  thistle-down,  that  fluttered  and 
rose  and  fell  lightly,  and  of  darting  dragon-flies  that 
wheeled  and  boomed  and  settled — and  then  wheeled 
and  boomed  again.  Pink  convolvulus  had  swathed 
all  the  hedges  up  and  down  ;  briony,  with  its  berries 
ripening  into  red,  and  its  beautiful  leaves  hanging, 
tumbled  across  the  privet  here  and  there. 

Far  off  was  the  sound  of  the  sweeping  sickle,  of  the 
voices  of  children,  of  the  creaking  of  heavy  wains. 

On  one  side  a  field  of  beans,  brown,  cut  and  sheaved 
already  ;  on  the  other,  ruddiest,  ripest  barley,  half 
reaped.  Further  on,  a  field  that  had  been  "  carried  " 
the  evening  before. 

In  this  last  field  all  Haslington  was  gleaning.  Men 
there  were  none,  for  their  strong  arms  were  needed  all 
the  day,  and  a  long  day  it  is  in  harvest.  But  women 
of  all  ages,  with  children  of  all  ages,  had  come  like 
Ruth  to  the  field  of  Boaz. 

Fat  babies  lay  cooing  on  their  backs  here  and  there, 
little  girls  with  officious  zeal  rushing  suddenly  upon 
them,   setting  them   upright,    pulling  their   pinafores 


Il6  HARVESTING. 

down  and  their  backs  up,  making  them  open  their 
eyes  wide  before  they  relapsed  into  the  old  position, 
which  was  so  much  more  comfortable  and  free. 

When  Mistress  Judith  came  into  the  field  there  was 
a  chorus  of  kindly  greetings  and  of  curtseys. 

*'  I  am  not  going  to  glean,"  said  she,  "  but  I  might 
pick  up  some  of  the  babies." 

But  as  soon  as  she  saw  how  very  happy  the  babies 
were,  kicking  out  freely  on  their  backs  and  studying 
the  heavens,  she  sat  down  on  the  stubble  instead,  and 
talked  to  the  women  as  they  passed  her. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

GLEANING. 

*'/"^  OOD  gleaning  ?  oh,  ay — it  be  good  enow,  thank 
^^  }-ou,  mem — fine  and  full  i'  the  ear,  and  heavy 
too.  I  could  git  a  good  lapful  an  it  weren't  for  the 
baby.  My  first  he  died  with  puttin'  of  him  out  in 
'arvest  two  year  ago  this  'arvest  that  was,  and  my 
husband  says  I  shouldn't  put  out  this  baby  not  no 
more,  so  I 's  forced  like  to  take  him  i'  the  field  alonp" 
of  me.  He  looks  well .''  yes,  he  du,  and  thenk  you, 
mem.  He  were  very  sickly  last  'arvest,  that  he  were. 
Never  looked  up,  he  didn't,  not  'cept  his  father  come 
in  over  the  door.  Then  he  were  fierce  as  fierce,  weren't 
he,  mother  ? " 

"  Ay,  that  he  wur,  as  fierce  as  fierce,"  said  the  grand- 
mother, bending  her  old  back  over  the  nearly  clean 
field,  and  picking  up  a  single  ear  once  in  twenty 
yards. 

"He'll  be  helping  you  to  glean  soon,  Mistress 
Sagger,"  said  Judith;  "by  this  time  four  or  five 
years." 


Il8  GLEANING. 

"  Ah,  that  he  will,  mem  ;  but  I  doan't  know  as  how 
the  gleanin'  '11  be  then.  Folks  say  as  them  'chines  is 
a-comin'  in,  and  cleans  up  a  place  terrible  close,  they 
du.     There  won't  be  much  left  for  poor  folks,  not  then." 

"  I  hope  they  won't  come  here  then,"  said  Judith 
warmly.  She  was  sitting  with  her  hat  pushed  back 
from  her  face,  and  the  round  straw  brim  framed  in  the 
oval  like  a  halo  ;  her  hands  clasped  round  her  knees, 
and  Bully  lying  panting  beside  her.  She  was  a  little 
sunburnt  in  those  days,  and  yet  she  looked  a  lily 
beside  the  bronzed  women  who  were  round  her. 

•'  That  '11  be  as  how  Master  BuUcn  likes,  I  take  it," 
said  another  speaker. 

"  If  he  favours  'is  father,  he  '11  be  good  to  poor 
folks,"  said  a  third. 

"  Farmer  Bullen,  it 's  him  as  favours  the  old  gen'le- 
man,"  said  a  fourth. 

As  they  passed  out  of  Judith's  hearing,  they  talked 
with  still  greater  freedom  on  the  same  topic.  Here 
was  Saturday:  on  Monday  Gentleman  Bullen  was 
coming  home.  No  wonder  they  were  all  agog  with 
excitement  and  speculation. 

"  There  bean't  no  doubt  but  he  's  a-comin'  Monday, 
be  there  .? "  • 

"  Nay,  not  likely.  Sukey,  she  been  up  a  washin'  for 
Mistress  Bullen  this  two  dies,  and  she  tell  me  as  how 


GLEANING.  II9 

they  been  a-washin'  of  the  winder  curtins  as  hasn't 
been  up  since  the  old  gen'leman  died." 

"My  man,"  said  Mistress  Muncey,  the  blacksmith's 
wife,  speaking  confidentially,  and  with  the  importance 
that  became  her  as  the  bearer  of  so  valuable  an  addi- 
tion to  the  facts  of  the  case, — "  My  man  he  have  been 
up — Master  Amos  he  have  sent  for  him,  and  he  tell 
me  as  he  have  grinden  all  the  knives,  and  oilen  the 
boiler  and  sich,  and  putten  a  new  nob  on  the  poker. 
Now  if  that  bcan't  a  sign  sure  and  sartin  as  the  young 
man's  a-comin'  Monday,  my  name  bcan't  Lydia 
Muncey." 

"  Well,  and  it  aiiit  like  they  'd  make  sich  turn  out 
and  that  an  the  young  gen'leman  weren't  a-comin' 
home  Mondaj',"  echoed  a  neighbour. 

"  What 's  more,"  said  Mistress  Gadd,  "  I  see'd 
Mistress  Bullen  a-airin'  of  summut  i'  the  gardin.  And 
thinks  I  to  myself,  if  them  bean't  him  sheets,  I  'm 
greatly  mistook.  Ou  ay,  I  knows  their  ways  and  sich. 
I  see'd  'em  barn,  both  on  'em,  bless  their  hearts !  and 
fine  childer  they  was  both  on  'em." 

"  Master  Amos  he  be  a  fine  man  surely,"  said  one 
of  the  women.  "  And  kind-hearted  like  his  father. 
We'll  spare  him  ill  when  he  takes  to  go  away.  I 
dunno,  but  I  doesn't  seem  to  take  so  kindly  to  t'other 
'un  on  'cm." 


I20  GLEANING. 

"  He  do  seem  consekial,"  said  another  ;  "  that  comes 
o'  going  to  strange  parts,  and  sich." 

"  Well,  you  see  they  gits  consekial  when  they  gits 
to  any  bigness  ;  my  boy,  he  doan't  keer  now  for  what 
nie  nor  his  father  says,  not  he." 

"Come,  girls,  come  now!"  cried  Mistress  Jacklin, 
the  wag  of  the  village,  bustling  up  with  a  bundle  in 
her  lap  and  another  balanced  on  her  head.  Tt  was 
the^  fashion  to  laugh  at  what  Mistress  Jacklin  said  ; 
so  .they  all  laughed  before  she  had  said  anything 
more  wntty  than  "  Come,  girls,  come." 

"  Hisht,  Becky !"  said  one  or  two,  "  there  be  Master 
Amos  come  i' the. field." 

And  so  he  had.  He  lifted  his  hat  with  one  hand 
as  he  strode  through  the  stubble,  and  pushed  back  his 
hair  with  the  other  ;  passing  Judith  without  seeing 
her,  he  joined  the  knot  of  women  who  were  fastening 
up  their  bundles  in  great  cloths. 

There  he  stood  with  his  back  to  Judith  and  talked : 
talked  first  to  one  and  then  to  another;  asked  them 
how  they  had  fared,  looked  at  the  great  bundles, 
and  smiled.  And  as  they  passed  out  of  the  gate 
(for  the  great  church-bell  was  ringing  to  tell  them 
gleaning-time  was  over,  and  after  that  not  an  ear 
was  gathered),  Judith  could  hear  them  talking  of 
Amos  still. 


GLEANING.  121 

"The  beans?  yes,  he  says  as  how  hc'Jl  see  them 
kerried  this  afternoon,  he  will,  so  's  we  can  git  in 
Monday  early.  Look  'e  here  then,  Hannah  child,  I'll 
help  'e  kerry  yer  bundle.  Rest  it  'ere  agin  them 
black  postes,  and  I'll  take  it  up  fair.  It's  very 
hattering  for  the  childer  is  gleanin'  time,  bless  their 
hearts.  Up  so  'arly  of  a  mornin'  and  doesn't  git  a 
bed  till  late.  I  bean't  sorry  to-morrow  be  Sabbath, 
be  you,  neighbour  ?  " 

"That  I  bean't.  The  shirts  they  du  be  dirty  of  a 
Saturday  night ;  cleans  'em  with  a  brush,  I  du  ;  and 
Sunday,  ye  see,  it  du  come  in  'andy — cooks  yer  dinner, 
gives  it  the  men  noice  and  hot — sends  the  childer  to 
church,  and  then  gits  dressed  comfortable  like  afore 
evenin'  church — and  goes  reg'lar — say  yer  prayers, 
'ears  the  sarmint,  and  comes  away.  There  they  be, 
a-takin'  the  cart  o'  beer  in  the  bean-field  ;  why,  Joe 
he'll  be  glad  o'  that — he  take  koind  to's  beer,  he  du. 
There  he  be,  there  he  be  !  and  oh  my,  the  shirt  as  '11 
be  on  him  !  oh  my  ! — so  good  afternoon,  Becky,  and 
here,  Hannah,  take  yer  bundle,  will  ye  ?" 

And  so  the  long  procession  of  women,  each  with 
her  burden  poised  upon  her  head — one  arm  akimbo 
and  the  other  held  out  to  some  little  child,  passed  out 
on  to  the  road,  broke  up  into  knots  of  twos  or  threes, 
and   then  dispersed   altogether,  as  each  one  drew  her 


122  GLEANING. 

house-key  from  her  pocket,  and  disappeared,  bundle 
and  all,  under  her  low  doorway. 

Amos  Bullen,  with  his  head  bent,  followed  them 
slowly  across  the  field. 

Mistress  Judith  looked  up  from  her  knitting. 

"  Good  morning,  Amos." 

He  started,  and  took  off  his  hat  as  he  returned  her 
greeting. 

"  I  suppose  you  won't  be  many  days  longer  at  the 
harvesting,  Amos .''  you  '11  go  soon  after  Jesse  comes, 
won't  you  .'* " 

"Jesse  has  no  mind  I  should,"  he  answered,  smiling, 
but  speaking  a  little  warmly  all  the  same.  "  He 
thinks  I  might  as  well  bide  here  and  mind  Jiis 
business." 

"  Oh,  Amos,  he  can't  be  so  selfish  surely  !  Have 
you  had  a  letter  from  him  .''" 

"  Mother  has.  Mistress  Judith,  and  he  sent  a 
message  to  me  that  he  hoped  I  wouldn't  give  up  the 
farm,  as  he  couldn't  mind  it  himself.  He's  a  gentle- 
maii  now,  you  know.  Mistress  Judith." 

"Amos,  don't  speak  unkindly  like  that — it  isn't  like 
you  to  do  it."  And  Mistress  Judith,  half  ashamed  of 
reproving  him,  kept  her  head  bent  over  her  knitting. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  except  for  the 
boom  of  the  great  dragon-fiies,  with  their  blue  bodies 


GLEANING.  123 

and  silver  wings,  that  skimmed  past  them,  and  the 
creaking  of  the  wains  in  the  bean-field  hard  by.  Then 
Amos,  always  standing  up  before  Judith  and  kicking 
the  warm  stubble  with  his  foot,  said  gently — 

"  I  have  no  mind  to  speak  hardly  of  Jesse,  Mistress 
Judith.  He's  my  brother,  and  he's  never  done  me  a 
bad  turn  yet.  Only  I  was  sore  at  his  message, 
Mistress  Judith,  I  don't  deny.  If  you  had  written  the 
letter  I  did,  and  felt  as  I  did,  and  put  things  as  plain 
as  I  did,  you  'd  be  a  little  sore  too.  Not  even  an 
answer — only  a  message,  taking  it  so  lightly.  It  read 
to  me  like  this,  Mistress  Judith  :  '  I  am  Jesse,  and  my 
affairs  go  best  while  I  improve  yourself  and  while  you 
mind  the  farm.  After  all,  you  are  only  Amos.' 
That 's  how  it  read,  Mistress  Judith  ;  that 's  how  it 
read  to  me." 

That  was  just  how  the  letter  had  read,  and  how 
the  letter  had  been  written.  Amos  improving  him- 
self.'' travelling  .-*  Why  he  never  could  improve  !  Had 
not  the  Parson  tried  him,  and  his  mother  tried  him, 
and  Jesse  tried  him,  and  had  it  not  always  failed  } 
Jesse  turned  the  neat  letter  over  in  his  nice  ringed 
hand — he  liad  bour^ht  a  ring  in  Paris — and  wondered 
how  Amos  had  got  to  write  like  that :  in  spite  of 
being  incapable  of  improvement,  how  had  he  got  to 
write  like  tliat .-" 


124  GLEANING. 

He  felt  a  little  annoyed  that  Amos  should  have  got 
such  foolish  notions  in  his  head.  Surely  it  was  a  little 
presumptuous  on  his  part  to  think  of  asking  him, 
Jesse,  to  come  home  and  mind  the  farm,  when  all 
Jesse's  future  depended  on  his  preparing  for  and 
passing  his  examination.  When  he  had  passed,  and 
had  time  to  think  of  it,  he  might  put  a  steady  head- 
man under  his  mother  at  Trotter's  End,  and  then — 
why,  he  supposed  Amos  could  go  where  he  liked.  In 
the  meantime  Amos  must  stay.  That  was  imperative. 
He  should  have  a  salary  if  he  chose  for  doing  the 
work,  or  a  percentage  on  the  proceeds  of  the  farm. 
But  stay  he  must  till  after  the  examination.  Jesse 
was  getting  nervous  about  that  examination  ;  he  felt 
he  could  not  be  worried  about  other  things  just  now. 

Mistress  Bullen  was  not  easy  about  her  son's  letter. 
She  foresaw  a  cloud  not  bigger  than  a  man's  hand, 
but  still  a  cloud,  rising  in  the  east.  And  Monday 
was  to  have  been  so  joyful.  The  fatted  calf  was  to 
be  killed,  and  there  was  no  prodigal  in  the  matter. 
?tHstress  Eullen  thought  Jesse  was  coming  back  to  her 
after  a  long  absence  abroad,  just  as  he  had  left  her. 
She  wished  now  thai.  Amos  would  be  content  to  stay 
at  home  and  have  no  discussion  with  Jesse.  And  yet 
now  and  tlien,  when  it  liad  come  across  her  suddenly, 
she  thought  it  v/ould  be  best  if  he  were  to  go. 


GLEANING.  I?5 

She  looked  out  on  this  Saturday  morning  from  her 
garden  and  saw  the  train  of  gleaners  winding  out  of 
the  field  and  down  the  road.  And  then  she  saw 
Amos  talking  to  Mistress  Judith  near  the  gate. 

She  had  a  pure  woman's  deep  love  and  admiration 
for  a  pure  woman.  She  was  hardly  less  in  love  with 
Mistress  Judith  than  was  her  son. 

And  that  was  just  why  she  did  not  feel  at  ease 
when  she  saw  them  there  together.  How  beautiful 
that  face  must  be  as  she  looked  up  at  him !  how 
beautiful  the  little  round  soft  hands  that  plied  the 
twinkling  needles  !  And  as  for  Mistress  Judith's  voice 
— Mistress  Bullen  knew  it  was  the  sweetest  music  her 
ears  had  ever  heard. 

There  was  the  sun  burnishing  her  great  twists  of 
hair,  and  tinting  her  cheeks  with  beautiful  colour. 
And  there  was  the  large  straw  hat  throwing  its 
shadows  fitfully,  and  the  great  eyes  looking  up  blue 
and  innocent  and  wise  from  underneath  it. 

Mistress  Bullen  wished  Amos  would  come  home, 
while  she  went  about  with  her  scissors  clipping  off  the 
dead  roses  from  her  standards.  Every  now  and  then 
she  sighed  a  little  as  she  looked  up  and  saw  them  still 
there — still  together. 

And  innocent  Mistress  Judith  was  talking  of  all 
manner  of  things   but    love,— of   the   people,   of  the 


126  GLEANING. 

gleaning,  of  church,  of  Jesse.     And  Amos,  grown  very- 
silent,  stood  beside  her  leaning  upon  the  gate. 

It  was  not  till  she  said,  "  I  must  go  now  ;  father 
will  be  waiting  for  his  dinner,"  that  he  awoke  out  of 
his  silence  and  spoke. 

"  May  I  come  along  with  you,  IMistress  Judith  }" 

"  Yes  ;  why  not .''  and  I  '11  show  you  the  rose  that 
has  come  out  this  morning." 

"  It's  the  last  time,  may  be,"  he  said,  as  they  walked 
down  the  road,  and  he  drew  a  bunch  of  grain  from 
the  tree  it  hung  upon,  and  then  threw  it  on  the 
ground  under  Judith's  feet. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


CHURCH. 


ISTRESS  JUDITH  woke  next  morning  to 
find  the  sun  flooding  her  room,  and  to  know 
by  the  silence  that  it  was  Sunday.  No  bell  for  the 
gleaners  rang  out  in  business-like  fashion  at  six 
o'clock  from  the  old  church-steeple  ;  no  carts  went 
to  and  fro ;  there  was  no  sound  of  men's  voices,  and 
of  great  whips  cracking,  up  and  down  the  roads  and 
in  the  fields. 

The  yellow  half-reaped  fields  lay  basking  unmo- 
lested in  the  sun.  And  the  morning  haze  had  come 
again,  and  was  mellowing  the  flat  gilded  landscape 
into  a  rich  tuneful  harmony. 

It  is  an  old  simile,  the  "smile"  of  the  sun,  or 
of  the  earth.  Yet  what  else  describes  the  blissful 
radiance  of  morning  sun  upon  a  fertile  country, 
especially  if  the  season  be  harvest,  and  what  de- 
scribes the  look  the  earth  wears  better  than  to  say 
she  smiles  ? 

And  over  flat  Cambridgeshire  the  smile  can   be  so 


128  CHURCH- 

broad.  The  far  blue  distance  smiles,  and  the  streams 
smile — above  all,  the  ruddy  corn-fields  smile  and 
smile  ;  up  to  the  garden,  where  the  roses  and  the 
dahlias  smile,  and  the  window-panes  that  flash  back 
the  glory  smile  too. 

Mistress  Judith  loved  Sunday  ;  it  was  a  beautiful 
quiet  day  to  her,  yet  with  more  stir  in  it  than  other 
days  brought  with  them. 

First  there  was  breakfast  ;  then  Sunday-school. 
After  Sunday-school  she  drove  her  flock  across  the 
garden  and  the  churchyard  into  church.  The  great 
bell  went  clanging  and  booming ;  the  quiet,  decent, 
cheerful  folk  came  crowding  and  gathering ;  the  old- 
fashioned  pews  filled  ;  the  bells  stopped ;  the  barrel- 
organ  began  to  play.  Mr.  Cocks  v/ound  the  barrel- 
organ  with  great  proficiency'. 

It  was  time  for  the  Parson  to  be  at  his  post  But 
no  Parson  came. 

"He  has  forgotten,"  said  Judith  to  herself,  and 
slipped  out  of  her  great  square  box  noiselessly  to  go 
and  tell  him. 

Yes,  he  had  forgotten.  He  was  budding  a  rose  in 
the  garden.  He  had  learnt  from  Judith  how  to  bud 
roses,  and  he  was  trying  a  little  experiment  in  that 
line  for  the  first  time. 

"The  bell's  stopped,  father,"  said   Judith,  putting 


CHURCH.  129 

his  surplice  on,  out  in  the  garden,  just  as  he  stood, 
and  stuffing  the  sermon-case  into  his  hand. 

"  It's  empty,  it 's  empty, '  said  the  Parson,  wiping 
his  knife  deHberately  with  his  handkerchief,  and 
still  brooding  over  the  rose-bush. 

"  Can  I  find  it,  father  i  The  people  are  all  wait- 
ing.' 

"They  haven't  begun,  eh.''  have  they?"  he  asked 
concernedly. 

"  Yes,  father,  I  've  read  as  far  as  the  first  lesson,  and 
now  they  think  you  had  better  go  on,"  said  Judith, 
laughing,  as  she  dragged  him  towards  the  house. 

"  Now,  here  is  the  pile,  father ;  which  one  is  it  ? " 
she  asked,  issuing  out  of  a  musty  cupboard  in  the 
study,  where  a  supply  of  sermons  calculated  to  last 
three  years — no  more  and  no  less — was  stored, 

"  Well,  I  don't  know — eh  }  I  've  nearly  come  to  the 
end  of  my  three  years,  eh  "i  Must  begin  again  very 
soon,  eh  ?  "  And  he  turned  them  over  absently,  one 
by  one. 

At  last  Judith  found  the  one  he  had  preached  last 
Sunday ;  that  gave  a  clue  to  which  one  must  be 
preached  to-day.  It  had  originally  been  written  for 
Christmas  time — was  singularly  inappropriate  to  a 
hot  harvest  Sunday.  But  Parson  Ingrey  was  used  to 
such  little  difficulties  ;  he  would  clear  his  throat  once 


130  CHURCH. 

or  twice  and  so  clear  the  difficulty.  He  went  happily 
into  church,  followed  by  his  daughter,  fully  five 
minutes  after  the  barrel-organ  had  given  its  last 
groan,  and  he  read  his  sermon  all  the  way  up  the 
aisle,  and  made  his  corrections  mentally. 

It  was  a  beautiful  old  church,  with  a  bell-tower  at 
the  end,  in  which  the  ropes  were  still  swinging  slowly, 
as  the  prayers  began.  High  square  pews,  painted  a 
fleshy  white,  did  their  best  or  worst,  but  were  hardly 
successful,  in  disfiguring  it.  There  were  quaint  brasses 
on  the  walls,  from  "  Thom.  Wortleius,  priest,  A.D. 
1492,"  to  "  Dame  Hariot  Wymering,"  who  had  left 
her  Prayer-Book  and  Bible  to  the  Church,  with  her 
name  and  sundry  flourishes  inscribed  in  them  : 
"Hariot  Wymering — Her  Booke,  165 1."  There  was 
a  carved  screen,  falling  to  pieces,  but  beautiful  still, 
rough  and  unfinished,  telling  its  tale  of  years  by  the 
traces  of  the  axe  only,  instead  of  the  plane  or  the 
carver's  instruments  of  later  times.  There  were 
monuments  barbarous  enough  here  and  there,  and 
the  pulpit  and  the  reading-desk  were  piled  one  upon 
the  other. 

In  the  reading-desk  now  stands  the  Parson  arrang- 
ing his  hood  and  stole. 

At  his  right  hand  sits  IMistress  Judith,  lost  in  the 
abyss  of  the  Rectory-pew.     At  his  left,  spectacled  and 


CHURCH.  Ijl 

important,  stands  Jonas  Jacklin,  the  Clerk.  All  up 
the  aisle,  on  rickety  little  benches,  is  arrayed  the 
extreme  youth  of  Haslington — three  and  three  and 
three,  red  heads,  brown  heads,  curly  heads,  smooth 
heads,  all  packed  together ;  anything  that  can  spell 
/;,  0,  bo — nothing  that  can  find  its  own  way  into 
church  and  open  a  pew  door  is  here  admitted. 

Jonas  Jacklin  frowns  alternately  at  the  extreme 
youth  and  at  the  Prayer-Book.  Towards  the  begin- 
ning of  each  prayer  the  youth  is  in  the  ascendant  : 
towards  the  end  the  Prayer-Book  gets  it  very  hot  and 
strong,  for  then  the  "  Amen "  must  be  attended  to 
rather  than  the  youth. 

On  one  side  of  the  little  fidgeting,  surging  popula- 
tion of  the  aisle  rises  one  wall  of  square  pews  ;  into 
them  lumber  all  the  men  of  Haslington.  On  the 
other  side  the  aisle  rises  another  wall  of  square  pews  ; 
into  them  go  all  the  women  of  Haslington.  Poor, 
little  extreme  youth,  they  are  hardly  d^-\lt  with  !  what 
chance  have  they  of  a  quiet  pommel  now  and  then — 
Mr.  Cocks  towering  over  the  barrel-organ  at  one  end, 
the  women  besetting  them  on  one  side,  the  men, 
fathers  and  all,  on  the  other — Parson  and  Jonas 
Jacklin  in  the  middle  .-* 

And  yet  the  worst  has  not  been  told.  The  extreme 
youth  have  a  greater  enemy  still.     Jonas  Jacklin  as 


132  ^  CHURCH. 

Clerk  is  to  be  feared  ;  but  Jonas  Jacklin  has  another 
capacity.  As  Clerk  he  is  merciful  enough  ;  but  as 
"boy-banger"  who  can  be  merciful } 

Yes,  terrible  idea  indeed  it  is  to  contemplate.  A 
row  of  fidgeting,  surging  urchins  under  six  years  old, 
and  the  eye  of  a  fierce  boy-banger  overhanging  them. 
If  Tommy  Bullen  from  behind,  for  instance,  pinches 
Joe  Mulberry's  ear,  and  Joe  Mulberry  hits  back  with 
his  small  elbow  into  Tommy  Bullen's  stomach — why, 
they  know  what  penalty  awaits  them.  In  an  instant 
they  are  stalked  ;  Jonas  Jacklin's  hands  make  ac- 
quaintance with  their  ears. 

And  yet  Tommy  Bullen  docs  pinch  Joe  Mulberry's 
ears  ;  Joe  Mulberry  does  sometimes  insinuate  his  small 
fist  into  his  neighbour's  ribs.  There  is  a  moment — one 
short,«one  blissful  moment,  when  it  is  possible  to  pinch 
your  neighbour  with  impunity.  It  is  when  Mr.  Cocks 
is  safely  ensconced  behind  the  barrel-organ,  and  both 
Jonas  Jacklin  and  the  Parson  are  hunting  for  a  hymn 
to  suit  the  tune.  Mr.  Cocks  leaves  this  deferentialh' 
to  the  Parson  ;  for  one  thing  he  cannot  be  certain 
which  tune  will  come  up  first.  Sometimes  the 
organ  sticks  and  squeaks  at  the  Old  Hundredth  ; 
then  they  carry  it  out  of  cliurch  for  a  little,  shake 
it  well,  bring  it  back,  and  it  plays  Luther's  Hymn 
excellently. 


CHURCH.  133 

So  there  is  always  a  pleasing  uncertainty  about  the 
musical  part  of  the  service  in  Haslington  church. 

It  was  at  such  a  juncture,  and  just  as — in  accord- 
ance with  sundry  significant  winks  from  Mr.  Cocks — 
the  Parson  had  begun  hunting  for  an  eight,  eight, 
eight,  eight  hymn,  that  the  silence  was  broken  by  the 
opening  of  the  side-door  of  the  church,  that  groaned 
and  grated  heavily  on  the  stone,  despite  the  evident 
endeavours  of  the  intruder  to  come  in  quietly. 

The  woman  next  to  Jonas  Jacklin — for  he  and  the 
pulpit  were  on  the  side  of  the  women — being  nudged 
by  her  neighbour,  nudged  the  Clerk.  The  Clerk  over 
the  top  of  his  pew  nudged  the  Parson  in  his  reading- 
desk  :  after  which  he  fell  precipitately  out  of  the  pew 
and  into  the  aisle,  and  breathing  hard,  made  for 
Mistress  Bullen's  great  pew  opposite  Mistress  Judith's. 
He  held  the  door  open,  but  his  eyes  were  as  wide, 
very  nearly,  as  the  door. 

For  up  the  aisle,  past  the  little  boys,  walked  a  tall 

sunburnt  young  man  who  "favoured"  Mistress  Bullen. 

^  With  a  gentleman's  coat  upon  his  back,  a  gentleman's 

airs  and   manners,  a  gentleman's  gold   ring  upon   his 

hand — who  should  it  be  ?     Not  Gentleman  Bullen  1 

Come  to-day — to-day  instead  of  to-inorroza  ?  How 
could  Haslington  say  its  prayers  properly  after  that  .^ 

But  one,  after  the  first  flush  of  happiness  and  sur- 


134  CHURCH. 

prise  had  passed  from  her  sweet  countenance,  bowed 
her  head  upon  her  hands  and  prayed  much  better  than 
she  had  prayed  before.  Her  darhng,  her  son  ;  she 
thanked  God,  and  could  not  be  tired  of  thanking 
Him.  She  forgot  all  about  the  cloud  like  a  man's 
hand. 

Amos  Bullen  forgot  too,  and  his  heart  warmed  over 
his  brother.  And  he  felt  no  jealousy  as  he  saw  his 
mother  hold  Jesse's  hand  through  the  hymn,  and 
through  the  sermon. 

It  seemed  to  Mistress  Bullen  that  she  had  her 
sermon  beside  her,  sent  of  God.  She  did  not  hear 
much  of  Parson  Ingrey's. 

But  perhaps  that  was  as  well. 

For  the  sight  of  Jesse  Bullen  had  clean-swept  the 
Parson's  memory  of  all  corrections  and  insertions. 

Right  through  from  beginning  to  end  he  preached 
his  Christmas  sermon.  And  just  as  he  came  to  the 
part  that  had  a  real  atmosphere  of  holly  and  snow 
about  it — for  the  Parson  wrote  well  and  vividly  when 
he  did  write — a  swallow  swept  in  at  the  open 
door  and  twittered  in  the  rafters  ;  and  little  Tommy 
Bullen  walloped  the  next  boy  surreptitiously  with 
a  dahlia. 

And  there  were  all  the  men  with  dahlias  in  their 
button-holes,    open-mouthed,    wondering    what    the 


CHURCH.  135 

Parson  was  about,  and  sitting  under  him  with  sun- 
burnt faces. 

But  neither  swallow,  nor  dahlias,  nor  open  mouths, 
nor  sunburn,  made  any  impression  on  the  Parson. 
For  there  was  Jesse — his  "  lad  " — come  back  to  him 
once  more. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

FIRST    IMPRESSIONS. 

THAT  night  Mistress  Bullen  and  her  sons  sat  np 
very  late  at  Trotter's  End.  For  what  was 
there  not  to  hear  and  to  tell  after  a  year's  absence,  a 
year's  separation  ? 

And  Jesse  could  tell  well :  he  had  a  sharp  ear 
and  an  observant  eye ;  and  he  knew  what  was 
beautiful  and  what  was  to  be  admired  as  well  as  any 
man. 

Perhaps  that  was  why,  after  his  mother  and  Amos 
had  left  his  room,  he  sat  on  by  the  window,  and-  fell 
to  thinking.  Fell  to  thinking  of  something  much  to 
be  admired,  something  most  beautiful,  upon  which 
his  eyes  had  fallen  that  day. 

The  first  eyes  that  had  met  his  own  as  he  entered 
Haislington  Church  were  the  eyes  of  Mistress  Judith. 
Did  he  not  know  them  well  ?  Had  they  not  looked 
at  him  at  all  times  and  seasons,  in  all  moods,  from 
under  sun-bonnets,  straw-hats,  bonnets  and  no  bonnets, 
ever  since  he  could  remember .-' 


FIRST    IMPRESSIONS.  I37 

And  yet,  though  there  was  no  hidden  meaning  in 
the  eyes,  nothing  beyond  an  innocent  astonishment, 
they  had  startled  Jesse  Bullen. 

When  he  had  come  home  a  year  ago,  he  l^ad 
harboured  no  warm  feehng  for  Mistress  Judith:  before 
he  had  left  a  year  ago,  he  had  indulged  in  a  little 
gallantry,  perhaps ;  but  the  lightest,  most  trifling 
gallantry  possible.  Jesse  Bullen  was  no  soft-hearted 
youth,  falling  in  love  at  seventeen,  and  at  eighteen, 
and  at  nineteen.  He  would  not  have  been  a  lad  at 
all,  if,  thrown  constantly  into  the  society  of  a  young 
girl  who  was  beautiful  and  the  daughter  of  his  patron, 
he  had  not  said,  "  If  you  like  soldiers  best,  I  '11  be  a 
soldier.  Mistress  Judith."  But  as  he  said  it  he  had 
smiled  :  and  if  it  had  not  suited  his  tastes  and 
comfort  in  other  ways,  the  soldierhood  would  long 
ago  have  been  foregone.  Jesse  had  been  out  in  the 
Avorld  :  words  that  would  have  come  hot  from  the 
heart  of  Amos  meant  nothing  on  his  lips. 

It  is  true  that  towards  the  close  of  his  year  of 
absence  Jesse  had  begun  to  think  a  little  of  Judith. 
We  have  seen  that,  by  his  letter  to  Parson  Ingrey; 
which  however  compromised  him  not  at  all.  But 
he  had  thought  of  her  as  he  had  left  her:  still  with 
frocks  that  did  not  touch  the  ground  ;  still  sunburnt, 
childish,  unfinished  altogether.     A  year's  absence  he 


I5o  FIRST    IMPRESSIONS. 

felt  had  made  him  more  than  her  equal, — her 
superior.  And  had  he  not  seen  fifty  women,  beautiful 
and  graceful  and  finished,  fifty  more  beautiful  than 
the  little  countr\'  thinf?  of  sixteen  he  remembered — 
who  had  been  courteous  to  him,  more  courteous  by 
far  than  Judith  ?  Eventually — there  was  no  saying 
— Mistress  Judith  Ingrey  iiiight  be  the  right  wife 
for  him.  Up  to  the  present  time,  he  had  had  no 
other  feeling  than  a  little  curiosity  when  he  thought 
of  her  at  all :  much  the  same  interest  that  his  father 
would  have  had  looking  at  a  calf  in  a  neighbour's 
feld,  and  thinking  if  he  found  he  had  not  enough 
cattle  to  graze  his  own,  he  might  inquire  the  price 
of  that  calf,  and  a  few  others  of  the  same  breed. 

So  she  was  not  in  Jesse's  mind  at  all  as  he  came 
into  the  church ;  it  was  more  of  what  Haslington 
folk  would  say  of  him,  and  of  his  mother,  that  he 
thought. 

And  when  he  met  the  eyes  of  Mistress  Judith,  and 
saw  the  sun  in  a  dusty  beam  shining  upon  her  hair 
over  the  great  square  pew,  he  was  a  little  startled. 
Surely  this  was  something  more  than  the  Mistress 
Judith  he  remembered. 

Afterwards,  when  he  had  come  into  the  Rectory 
garden,  and  Parson  Ingrey  had  walked  up  and  down, 
up  and  down,  with  his  arm  over  his  shoulder,  he  had 


FIRST    IMPRESSIONS.  I39 

been  made  quite  sure  that  this  was  more  than  the 
Mistress  Judith  of  a  year  ago.  Tall  now,  with  a  white 
dress  that  touched  the  ground,  the  beautiful  oval  of 
her  face  filled  out  with  the  round  soft  beauty  of  early 
girlhood,  the  hair  thicker,  heavier,  more  lustrous  than 
ever,  gathered  up  in  womanly  fashion  on  her  head  ; 
and  then  those  eyes,  which  surely  vuist  have  changed 
a  little,  grown  larger  and  greyer  and  more  expressive. 
He  did  not  stay  to  count  the  particulars  as  he 
v/atched  her:  he  was  astonished  only  that  he  had 
been  mistaken,  and  that  this  Mistress  Judith  was  not 
what  he  had  taken  her  to  be. 

For  one  thing,  instead  of  feeling  himself  her 
superior,  she  was  higher  above  him  than  she  had 
ever  been  before.  It  was  not  that  she  was  proud  or 
cold  in  her  manner ;  she  did  not  speak  a  great  deal, 
it  is  true,  and  what  she  said  was  innocent  enough. 
But  lor  all  her  playing  with  Bully,  and  her  childish 
ways,  an  atmosphere  hung  about  such  as  the  moon 
wears  to  little  children  who  cry  for  her.  Beautiful,  and 
hardly  knowing  it ;  shining  down  softly,  and  yet  such 
a  long  way  off, — that  was  just  the  impression  Judith 
made  on  Jesse  Bullen.  And  this  puzzled  him,  and 
he  could  not  analyse  the  feeling.  He  only  knew 
his  calculations  had  been  at  fault :  that  if  occasion 
should  require  it — and  of  this  he  was  not  in  the  least 


140  FIRST    IMPRESSIONS. 

degree  certain — he  should  have  to  cHmb  up,  up,  and 
not  to  stoop  down. 

Jesse  did  not  like  being  puzzled,  or  put  out  in  his 
calculations.  And  that  was  why  he  sat  up  after 
Amos  and  his  mother  had  gone.  Not  because  the 
eyes  of  Mistress  Judith  had  made  havoc  in  his  heart 
and  kept  him  from  sleep.  Jesse,  as  we  have  said, 
was  not  so  foolish. 

That  night  nothing  passed  between  the  brothers 
about  Amos's  wish  of  leaving  home.  Each  was  strong 
in  his  own  determination :  Amos  to  go,  Jesse  to 
oppose  that  going.  Mutually  they  forebore  that  first 
night  to  touch  on  a  discussion  which  must  end 
adversely  for  one,  or,  worse  still,  in  disagreement 
and  bad  feeling. 

But  Amos  Bullen  prayed  that  night  that  his  tongue 
might  be  held  and  his  temper  straitened.  He  had 
prayed  a  good  deal  since  Mistress  Judith  had  come 
into  his  life.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  very  thought 
of  her  must  have  its  temple. 

And  Jesse,  when  he  had  lost  the  smell  of  the  hay- 
ricks in  the  smell  of  his  cigar,  and  closing  the 
window,  had  betaken  himself  to  bed,  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  Mistress  Judith  had  grown  very 
beautiful.  If  she  were  dressed  like  other  women — 
by  "  other  women  "  Jesse  Bullen  meant  women  of  the 


FIRST    IMPRESSIONS.  14I 

world  such  as  he  had  seen — she  would  outshine  them 
all.  As  it  was,  she  was  beautiful,  in  spite  of  being 
countrified,  in  spite  .of  the  small  straw-bonnet  which 
was  not  the  least  "the  thinc^"  to  wear  now.     If  he, 

ever And  here  Jesse  Bullen  fell  asleep,  in   the 

heavy  old  carved  bedstead  ol  his  fathers. 

The  next  day  Jesse  set  out  early  for  the  Rectory. 
There  was  much  to  talk  of  with  the  Parson,  who 
was  restless  from  breakfast-time,  going  out  and  in 
to  the  house  with  his  newspaper,  and  looking  down 
the  road  ;  waiting  for  his  lad  with  the  light  step 
and  the  bright  eye,  who  had  been  so  long  away. 
The  same  indescribable  pleasure  that  came  to  Judith 
from  the  sight  and  the  tending  of  her  roses  came 
to  her  father  at  the  siglit  of  Jesse ;  and  Jesse's 
heart  warmed  too  as  he  saw  the  Parson's  smile  of 
welcome,  and  knew  that  his  coming  had  not  been 
forgotten. 

Judith  was  doing  up  the  weekly  bills  in  the  little 
drawing-room.  She  did  not  like  sums  at  all  ;  and  ; 
when  she  had  to  do  them  she  gatlicred  up  her  hair 
unconsciously  with  an  extra  hair-pin  to  help  her  brain, 
and  to  keep  it  together.  She  was  very  glad  now  and 
then  to  look  up  from  the  butcher's  book,  or  the 
washing  bill,  to  watch  her  father  and  Jesse  pacing  the 
garden.     Up  and  down,  up  and  down  ;  they  would 


142  FIRST    IMPRESSIONS. 

surely  wear  a  path  in  the  soft  lawn  if  they  went  on 
much  longer. 

And  they  went  on  till  the  dinner-bell  rang  at  two 
o'clock,  and  then  the  Parson,  still  with  his  arm  round 
his  shoulders,  led  Jesse  into  the  house.  He  would 
have  forgotten  to  ask  any  one  else  to  come  in,  if  fifty 
dinner-bells  had  rung ;  but  he  did  not  forget  to  ask 
Jesse 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  putting  you  to  inconvenience, 
Mistress  Judith,"  said  Jesse,  taking  off  his  hat  as 
he  came  in,  and  sitting  down  with  a  mixture  of  ease 
and  deference  that  was  very  taking — "  Mr.  Ingrey  has 
been  so  kind  as  to  ask  me  to  come  in,  and  I  had  no 
wish  to  refuse.  Let  me  open  the  door,"  he  added, 
stepping  forward  and  holding  it  wide  till  Judith  and 
her  father  had  passed  out. 

And  then  he  came  and  sat  doAvn  with  them,  nodding 
and  saying  a  kind  word  to  Ruth,  and  then  telling  the 
Parson  jtist  what  he  liked  to  hear.  And  in  his  con- 
versation, as  in  his  manner,  there  was  that  indefinable 
something  which  stamps  the  gentleman.  Judith, 
pulling  her  grapes  to  pieces,  skinning  one  for  Bully, 
and  listening  to  what  Jesse  told  her  father,  felt 
that  that  father  had  good  reason  to  be  proud  of  his 
"  lad." 

She  had  been  a  little  shy  of  him  at  first,  as  girls  are 


FIRST    IMPRESSIONS.  143 

wont  to  be  with  those  who  have  been  their  famihars 
in  childhood,  and  whom  they  meet  again  in  early- 
womanhood.  And  since  her  childhood  she  had  seen 
very  little  of  Jesse. 

Now  his  perfect  self-possession  set  her  at  ease  too. 
After  dinner,  while  the  Parson  dozed  a  little  in  his 
chair,  she  found  herself  strolling  with  him  in  the 
garden.  And  when  she  strolled  there,  what  else 
should  she  do  but  show  him  her  roses  .'*  And  when 
she  had  shown  him  her  roses,  there  were  the  cocks 
and  hens  and  the  white  rabbits,  he  remembered. 

And  after  she  had  shown  them  all,  she  had  a  little 
pang  of  remorse,  just  for  an  instant.  She  had  taken 
up  a  new  friend  too  lightly,  perhaps.  She  had  been 
lettinp"  him  into  all  the  innocent  little  confidences  she 
had  with  Amos.  And  Amos  was,  after  all,  her  old, 
old  friend.  Jesse  had  never  been  her  favourite.  She 
hoped  she  had  not  been  at  all  unfaithful  to  her  old 
friend,  who  was  going  away.  Then  she  said  suddenly 
to  Jesse, — 

"  I  suppose  Amos  is  soon  going  ? " 

"  Well,  I  hope  not.  Mistress  Judith  ;  it  '11  be  a  bad 
day  for  the  farm  when  he  goes,"  he  added. 

"That  it  will,"  she  returned.  "And  for^the  people 
too — because  all  the  people  hold  by  Amos,  you  see," 
she  added,  noticing  that  Jesse  looked  at  her  suddenly 


144  FIRST    IMPRESSIONS. 

'"I 

with  a  new  expression  that  might  mean  he  was  pained  ; 
"they  have  not  had  you  to  share  the  hking,  Jesse, 
because  you  have  been  so  much  away.  But  I  hope 
Amos  '11  get  away  now  for  a  bit,"  she  said,  picking 
a  piece  of  jessamine  from  the  wall  and  smelling  it. 
"  I  shall  miss  him  sorely,  for  I  've  no  other  friend 
that  is  young  but  him.  But  I  hope  he  '11  go,  that  I 
do  ;  it 's  best  for  him  to  go,  I  am  certain." 

"  I  wonder  he 's  so  anxious  to  go,"  said  Jesse 
meaningly.  It  was  quite  a  new  light  to  him  this, 
that  Amos  and  Mistress  Judith  were  "  friends."  Play- 
mates they  had  been  certainly ;  but  when  Jesse  had 
been  at  home  before.  Amos  durst  hardly  come  within 
the  Rectory  gates. 

It  was  six  o'clock  when  Jesse  sauntered  back  to 
Trotter's  End.  On  the  bridge  he  found  Amos, 
leaning  and  brooding  over  the  water.  He  did  not 
move  his  broad  shoulders  as  his  brother  drew  near, 
though  he  turned  his  head  slightly  at  the  sound  of 
footsteps.  His  face  was  not  so  cloudless  as  was  its 
wont. 

Jesse  put  his  hand  on  his  neck. 

"  Where  have  you  been  .''  "  he  asked  lightly, 

"Where.-'  in  your  field  I  suppose,"  said  Amos, 
'•'  Some  one  must  look  after  the  men." 

"You've    done   well    by   me,    Amos,"   said   Jesse. 


FIRST    IMPRESSIONS.  145 

"  And  it  'II  be  a  bad  day  for  me  when  you  say  you  '11 
go.  But  I  hope  it  won't  be  yet  a  while,  lad.  I  '11 
make  you  any  offer  that 's  fair  if  you  '11  stay  and  look 
after  the  farm  till  spring  at  least,  when  I  '11  be  free  to 
think  about  such  matters." 

Amos  lifted  up  his  great  person  from  the  bridge, 
and  looked  at  his  brother. 

"  Jesse,"  said  he,  "  I  'm  a  dunderhead,  I  know. 
And  1  'm  '  Farmer '  Bullen,  whereas  you  're  '  Gentle- 
man.' But  I've  got  a  mind  to  make  up,  and  I've 
made  up  mine.  I  've  been  to  the  field  for  the  last 
time  to-day — unless  I  can  be  of  use  putting  jy;//  up  to 
anything  ;  then  I  '11  go,  and  gladly.  But  I  've  a  life 
before  me  's  well  's  you,  lad,  and " 

"  Don't  put  yourself  out,"  interrupted  Jesse,  walking 
slowly  towards  the  house.  "  It 's  not  a  matter  of  life 
and  death." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


AMOS   STRIKES. 


EXT  morning,  when  the  sun  rose  and  the 
cocks  crowed,  the  cocks  and  Jephtha  Parcell 
missed  Amos  for  the  first  time  in  the  farmyard. 
Jephtha  could  hardly  believe  his  senses  as  five  and 
six  and  seven  o'clock  struck,  and  the  gleaning-bell 
pealed  from  the  church  steeple,  and  all  the  women 
hurried  out  with  their  great  cloths  and  their  babies, 
and  the  blind  was  still  down  in  Master  Amos's  room. 
Jacl  and  Jephtha  had  a  long  talk  over  it  and  affairs 
in  general  at  Trotter's  End,  while  Jael  ought  to  have 
been  milking  the  cows,  and  Jephtha,  who  had  watered 
the  horses,  ought  to  have  been  out  harvesting.  Every 
hand  was  needed  now,  and  men  \yho  lived  all  the 
year  round  (with  families  ranging  from  two  to  four- 
teen) on  eleven  and  twelve  shillings  a  week,  were 
earning  from  sixteen  to  twenty  in  the  harvest  fields. 
It  was  hard  enough  work — up  long  before  daybreak 
and  after  dark  ;  but  still  sixteen  and  twenty  shillings 


AMOS    STRIKES.  147 

were  worth  earning,  and  no  one  complained  of  Amos, 
who  was  a  good  master. 

All  the  men,  like  Jephtha  and  Jael,  noticed  that  he 
did  not  come  into  the  field  for  the  first  time  since 
many  a  day.  They  all  knew  the  sound  of  the  dun 
mare's  hoofs  as  she  stepped  along  the  road — the  click 
of  the  gate,  that  Amos  opened  with  his  cane  ;  and 
then  the  ambling  of  the  mare  over  the  stubble,  as  she 
switched  her  tail  to  right  and  left,  and  bent  her  pretty 
head  to  her  knee  to  drive  off  the  teasing  flies  that 
settled  on  her  sleek  skin. 

Jesse  did  not  ride  so  well  as  Amos  ;  he  had  had 
no  practice  since  he  was  a  lad,  and  then  he  had  not 
much  love  for  the  exercise.  And  the  men,  who  were 
no  riders  themselves,  noticed  the  difference  when 
Jesse,  instead  of  Amos,  came  through  the  field  and 
wished  them  good  morning. 

But  he  did  not  stop  to  look  at  their  work,  as 
Amos  had  been  used  to  do.  He  only  passed  by, 
and  turned  towards  the  Rectory,  when  he  had  joined 
the  road. 

The  men  noticed  this  too,  and  wondered.  A 
stranger  who  had  come  to  make  an  extra  hand, 
but  who  had  been  enlightened  as  to  the  Bullens' 
affairs  in  the  tap-room,  suggested  drily  that  the 
brothers   were   on    strike.     "  Depend   upon   it  that 's 


148  AMOS    STRIKES. 

it  ;  t  'other  one  he 's  struck — and  the  Master  he 
won't  give  in." 

This  sally  was  received  with  great  applause  and 
laughter, 

"  May  be,"  said  the  man,  encouraged  by  success 
and  beer — "  may  be  it 's  a  shillin'  a  day  he 's  struck 
for, — and  may  be  it 's  a  young  'ooman." 

"Gen'leman  Bullen,  he's  rid  along  that  way," 
said  one  of  the  men,  "he's  rid  that  way  any  how." 

"  Oh  ay — he's  sweet  on  Mistress  Judith  sure  enough 
— leastways  that 's  the  talk  in  the  gleaning  field,"  said 
another. 

"  Durstn't  credit  all  as  I  hears  from  them  gleanin' 
fields,"  said  an  older  man,  who  had  learnt  by  experi- 
ence that  reports  from  the  gleaning  fields  were  not 
infallible. 

And  then  they  fell  to  working  again,  the  sickle 
going  with  a  soft  swish  through  the  heavy  barley,  and 
bringing  it  down  in  golden  heaps  as  if  to  strew  a 
king's  pathway. 

Jesse  Bullen  had  "  rid  "  to  the  Rectory.  But  he 
stopped  short  of  the  Rectory  at  Master  Hurst's  gate. 

There  was  Mistress  Judith  on  her  knees  before  the 
bee-hive,  while  the  old  man  sat  on  the  bench  against 
the  wall  under  his  vine,  held  his  stiff  knees,  and 
looked  at  her. 


AMOS    STRIKES.  149 

"  Do  you  see  how  they  air  the  hive,  Master  Hurst  ? " 
said  Judith. .  "They're  sitting  by  turns  at  tlie  door, 
and  fanning  their  wings  hke  any  thing.  Oh,  do  just 
look,  Master  Hurst !  " 

Jesse  had  hesitated  a  moment  at  the  gate.  What 
an  odd  fancy  Judith  had  to  this  old  man  !  But  the 
voice  that  reached  him  across  the  tliyme  and  the 
dahhas  had  something  in  it  that  put  an  end  to  his 
hesitation.  Hashngton  was  a  very  dull  place  ;  seeing 
Mistress  Judith  was  not  unpleasant  ;  even  old  Hurst 
was  better  than  no  one,  and  he  could  go  on  to  the 
Rectory  afterwards.  Jesse  wanted  to  go  to  the 
Rectory  as  much  as  possible  ;  he  wanted  little  by  little 
to  impress  on  the  Parson  that  there  was  a  probability 
— at  least  2,possibillty — that  the  examination  in  spring 
might  not  be  passed.  Jesse  was  clever,  and  he  knew 
it;  but  he  was  cautious  too.  He  liked  just  to  find 
out  how  things  would  be,  supposing  he  should  fail. 
And  at  present  the  idea  stoutly  refused  to  reach 
Parson  Ingrey's  brain.  He  spoke  of  the  examination 
as  he  would  of  going  to  bed,  and  only  felt  now  and 
then,  in  spite  of  himself,  a  pang  of  regret  that  his 
"lad"  was  not  going  in  for  honours  at  Cambridge 
instead  of  for  a  miserable  test  that  any  one  could 
pass  with  flying  colours. 

"Good  morning!"  said  Jesse,  when  he  had  called 


ISO  AMOS    STRIKES. 

an  urchin  to  hold  his  horse,  and  was  coming  up 
Master  Hurst's  pathway.  "  Good  morning,  Hurst, 
and  how  are  you  .'' " 

"  Wonderful  comical — O  wonderful  comical,  I  thenk    , 
3'e,   sir,"  said   the  old   man,  lifting  his  dim   eyes  to 
Jesse's  face.     "  And  how  be  you,  sir  ? " 

"Very  well,  Hurst,  and  glad  to  be  at  home  agaiiL 
What  are  the  bees  doing .? "  he  asked,  coming  behind 
Judith,  who  was  still  kneeling. 

"  Watching  them  airing  the  hive.  How  zvonderful 
they  are,  aren't  they  }  Just  look  here — that  one  has 
done  its  turn  ;  now  you  '11  see  another  come  out 
directly  ! " 

"Are  they  Hurst's  bees  .''  "  asked  Jesse, 

"Yes,  of  course.  Only  he's  going  to  give  them  to 
me  ;  aren't  you.  Hurst.'*" 

"  No,  not  give  'em.  Missus — not  give  'em,"  said  the 
old  man  thickly.  "  They  say  as  bees  won't  thrive  an 
you  give  'em." 

"  Well,  but  I  'm  to  give  you  a  fourpenny-bit — 
that 's  all." 

"  Must  have  silver  for  'em — must  have  silver,"  he 
said,  shaking  his  old  head  gravely. 

Jesse  was  not  at  home  with  bees.  He  kept  a  safe 
distance  in  case  they  should  sting  him,  and  he  did 
not  know  what  to  say  on  the  matter.     He  began  to 


AMOS    STRIKES.  IS^ 

wish  Judith  would  stop  watching  them  and  come  over 
to  the  Rectory. 

"  "When  did  they  swarm  ? "  he  asked  at  last,  by 
way  of  a  remark. 

"  Two  month  ago,"  said  Judith  eagerly  ;  "  Joe  Gadd 
got  the  first  swarm^off  the  elm  near  the  inn;  and 
Mistress  Saggers  got  another." 

"  Is  there  more  than  one,  then  ?  " 

"  One  ?    why "    and    Judith    got    up    from    her 

knees,  pushed  her  hat  back,  and  began  counting  on 
her  fingers — "  there 's  the  swarm,  and  the  maiden- 
swarm,  and  the  cast,  and  the  colt,  and  the  filly  ;  I 
don't  know  if  there  are  any  more." 

"  Who  taught  you  that  ? "  asked  Jesse,  smiling,  and 
thinking  he  had  never  seen  anything  so  pretty  as 
Judith  looked  this  morning.  So  fresh  and  innocent 
too,  with  her  half-childish,  half-womanlike  ways  :  for 
before  he  had  finished  speaking,  she  had  betaken 
herself  to  the  womanlike,  and  was  giving  Master 
Hurst  his  stick  and  helping  him  to  get  up  to  his  feet. 

"Why,  Master  Hurst  of  course,  and  all  the  people  ; 
they  all  know  that.  And  they  know  they  must  '  tell ' 
the  bees — don't  they,  Master  Hurst.?" 

"  Ay,  ay — they  must  tell  the  bees," 

"  What } "  asked  Jesse,  still  smiling,  and  following, 
as  they  made  for  the  door. 


152  AMOS    STRIKES. 

"When  any  one's  dead,  you  know,"  began  Judith. 

"Not  any  one.  Missus,"  said  Master  Hurst,  stopping 
short,  and  looking  very  gravely  at  his  guide,  "on'y 
the  Master  o'  the  bees.  The  Master,  ye  see."  And 
he  hobbled  on  again. 

"  Yes,  the  Master,"  said  Judith.  "  When  he  dies, 
some  one  must  run  out  and  tell  the  bees — mustn't 
they,  Master  Hurst  ?— or  else  they  '11  all  die." 

Jesse  laughed. 

"  And  what 's  more,"  said  Judith,  "  they  must  put  a 
bit  of  crape  on  the  hive  ;  the  bees  must  go  into 
mourning.  You  don't  believe  it.''"  she  said  in- 
dignantly ;  "  well,  you  'd  best  try  and  see  whether 
it  isn't  true." 

"  Don  't  be  angry,"  said  Jesse,  still  smiling  a  little, 
in  spite  of  himself,  but  wishing  more  than  ever  that 
Judith  would  get  rid  of  her  old  man,  and  attend  to 
him.  "At  all  events  I  hope  these  bees  won't  have 
to  be  told  in  my  life-time,"  he  added  more  gently — 
"if  they've  passed  out  of  Hurst's  hands,  as  you  say 
they  have." 

"Not  till  I  get  the  fourpenny-bit,"  said  Judith.  "  I 
tell  you  it  isn't  lucky.  I  'm  going  to  lock  up  Master 
Hurst  now  ;  you  stay  down-stairs,  because  the  stair 
is  very  narrow.' 

"  What  are   you   going   to   do   after  that .? "  asked 


AMOS    STRIKES.  153 

Jesse  humbly,  looking  up,  where  he  was  forbidden 
to  go. 

"Take  the  key  to  IMistress  Hurst  in  the  gleaning 
field,"  said  she,  slowly  helping  the  old  man  up  the 
stair.  "  He  doesn  't  like  it  being  left  in  the  door 
since  one  day  a  tramp  tried  to  get  in." 

And  a  few  minutes  afterwards  Jesse  found  himself 
leading  the  mare  along  the  road,  getting  a  white 
coat  of  dust  upon  his  boots,  and  side  by  side 
with  Judith.  He  had  come  down  to  see  the  Parson, 
and  to  go  to  the  Rectory.  Instead  of  doing  either, 
he  was  going  to  the  gleaning  field,  helping  to 
take  an  old  man's  key  to  his  old  woman.  He 
wondered  at  himself  for  what  he  was  doing,  but 
he  went  on. 

Close  to  the  gleaning  field  Amos  sprang  over  a 
hedge  and  met  them. 

"  You  're  wanted,"  he  said  to  Jesse,  and  a  look  of 
sharp  suspicion  came  into  his  eyes  as  he  saw  Mistress 
Judith  with  his  brother.  "  You  're  wanted  in  the 
west  field,  where  the  men  are  carting." 

"The  west  field  must  mind  itself,"  said  Jesse 
carelessly  ;  "  for  the  present  I  am  otherwise  occupied." 

"The  men '11  be  waiting,  won't  they,  Jesse?  "said 
Judith. 

"  Oh  no,"    said  Jesse.     "  They  've  got    nothing  to 


154  AMOS    STRIKES. 

ask  me  that  Amos  couldn't  have  told  them.  He 
knows  more  than  I  do." 

"  Won't  you  come  up  and  see  the  gleaning,  Amos  ?  " 
asked  Judith,  turning  round. 

But  Amos  was  gone,  and  he  had  not  so  much  as 
wished  her  good-day.     How  strange  of  Amos ! 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

GOOD-BYE  AND   NO   GOOD-BYE. 


THE  next  night  when  Mistress  Bullen  had  wished 
her  lads  good  night,  and  sleepy  Jael  had 
turned  down  the  lamp  on  the  landing,  and  clumped 
off  to  bed,  Amos,  with  his  elbows  on  the  window-sill, 
and  his  face  between  his  hands,  watched  the  light  in 
the  Parson's  study,  and  communed  with  himself. 

Jesse  had  been  only  two  or  three  days  at  home  ; 
and  yet  Amos  felt  that  the  time  had  been  as  long  as 
years,  and  that  jealousy,  that  vile  green  serpent,  had 
crept  into  his  honest  breast. 

He  was  restless  and  miserable  :  he  did  not  know 
his  own  mind,  or  what  he  wanted.  He  wanted  to  go 
— for  what  chance  had  he  of  raising  himself  if  he 
stayed  here  as  the  hired  servant  of  his  brother .-'  He 
wanted  to  stay  to  be  near  Mistress  Judith.  If  he 
went — why,  there  was  Jesse — always  to  be  with  her, 
always  near  her — while  he  was  far  away. 

"He  doesn't  love,"  said  Amos  to  himself;  "he 
doesn't  love  her ;  he  don't  speak  of  her  as  if  he  loved 


156  GOOD-BYE    AND 

.her;  he  couldn't  be  so  light-hearted  if  he  loved  her." 
But— if  he  should  be  always  near  her — hearing  the 
sound  of  that  voice,  seeing  those  trustful  eyes — learn- 
ing to  know  how  beautiful  her  soul  was,  as  well  as  the 
face  that  pictured  it — would  he  not  get  to  love  her  ? 
Was  it  not  possible  at  least  ? 

Amos  moved  his  elbows,  as  if  they  pained  him  ; 
that  possibility  was  more  than  he  could  brook.  He 
ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  and  passed  his  hand 
over  his  forehead.  There  was  one  way  to  avert  the 
evil,  only  one.  Jesse  did  not  love  Mistress  Judith 
yet ;  when  he  came  he  did  not  love  her — that  was 
certain  ;  three  days  could  not  have  made  him  love 
her,  said  Amos,  whose  love  was  of  so  long  a  growth, 
so  deep-rooted  that  he  could  not  tell  when  it  had 
risen,  or  where  it  had  stretched  to.  He  was  beginning 
now  to  know  how  far  it  had  stretched  ;  Jesse  had 
touched  him  a  great  way  off,  and  his  foolish  heart  had 
vibrated  as  if  a  hand  had  been  laid  upon  it. 

And  it  was  time  to  speak  now,  surely.  If  he 
delayed  there  was  no  saying  but  Jesse  might  urge  a 
claim  as  great  as  his  own.  Now  it  could  not  be  so. 
Now  it  was  time  to  speak,  to  throw  himself  on  his 
brother's  honour,  and  so  to  find  peace  again. 

The  smoke  of  Jesse's  cigar  came  round  the  corner 
on  the  soft  night  air.     Amos  stirred  himself,  took  up 


NO    GOOD-BYE.  157 

the  candle  that  had  been  spluttering  and  running  in 
the  breeze,  and  in  another  moment  was  at  Jesse's 
door. 

At  twelve  o'clock  that  night,  and  at  half-past  twelve, 
the  brothers  were  still  together — Jesse,  cross-legged 
upon  the  window-seat,  with  his  cigar  between  his 
fingers,  tapping  it  against  the  sill,  and  listening 
patiently  to  Amos's  story. 

Amos,  in  the  full  light  of  the  sputtering  candle, 
leant  upon  the  table  ;  his  large  eyes  were  unnaturally 
bright,  and  the  great  hands,  that  were  stripping  a 
rose-leaf  into  a  hundred  pieces,  shook  as  if  they  were 
aspen  leaves  ;  no,  not  so — they  shook  as  strong  things 
do  that  have  a  great  power  in  them  for  good  or  evil. 

And  Jesse  listened  and  listened.  He  was  a  wonder- 
fully patient  listener. 

When  one  o'clock  struck  out  clear  through  the 
stillness,  he  uncrossed  his  legs  and  yawned. 

"  I  expect  it's  time  we  were  tucked  up,"  he  said, 
stretching  hiniself,  and  he  carried  one  of  the  candles 
to  the  looking-glass,  where  he  took  up  a  brush  and 
smoothed  back  his  hair. 

Amos,  still  stripping  busily  at  the  rose-leaf,  did  not 
hear. 

Jes.se  tossed  up  his  hair  with  the  comb,  and  passed 
his  hand  over  his  upper  lip,  as  he  had  a  way  of  doing. 


158  GOOD-BYE    AND 

There  was  one  crop — to  be  grown  there — that  he  took 
some  interest  in.  A  sharper  man  than  Amos  would 
have  been  puzzled  by  the  expression  of  his  handsome 
face.     As  it  was,  Amos  did  not  look  up  at  all. 

Jesse  repeated  his  impression  that  it  was  time  they 
were  in  bed. 

Then  Amos  gathered  up  his  long  legs,  left  the 
rose-leaf,  and  took  up  his  candle.  He  laid  his  broad 
hand  on  Jesse's  shoulder. 

"God  bless  you,  lad,"  he  said  ;  "I'm  afraid  I'm  a 
wearisome  talker  to-night ;  but  I  thank  you  for  listen- 
ing, and  for  saying  you'll  try  and  do  without  me  on 
the  farm  for  a  while,  now  you  know  how  hard  it  is  for 
me  to  stop.  You  can't  understand  it,  lad,  I  see,  but 
you  can  believe  it.  I'm  a  sight  easier  in  my  mind 
than  I've  been  these  many  months  past." 

"That's  right,  lad — go  to  bed,"  said  Jesse,  "and 
dream  of  your  Princess." 

"  I  don't  deny  it  makes  me  easy  too,"  said  Amos, 
'  musing,  at  the  door,  with  the  handle  in  his  hand,  "  to 
think  I  needn't  speak  to  the  Parson.  I  was  in  two 
minds  about  that,  lad — that  I  was.  It  didn't  seem 
open  somehow,  hanging  about  her  and  not  telling  him 
what's  in  m5^  mind.  But  as  you  say,  lad,  it  wouldn't 
be  any  use — only  bold  and  forward — going  now 
before  I'd  done  anything  towards  raising  myself;  he's 


NO    GOOD-BYE.  IS9 

never  been  a  great  friend  to  me  anyhow,  and  he'd 
just  give  me  the  kick-out — that's  all.  And  then, 
maybe,"  said  Amos,  lowering  his  voice,  and  a  soft 
light  flooding  his  eyes  as  he  bent  them  over  the  candle 
— "  may  be  she  'd  fret  and  not  understand.  And 
she  'd  take  it  hard  if  she  mightn't  see  an  old  friend 
perhaps.  But  I  '11  not  hang  about  her  now.  God 
help  me  1  it's  a  bit  hard — it'll  be  hard  for  a  while — 
but  then  I'll  get  away,  Jesse,  lad— and  I  trust  to 
you  to  help  me  to  do  that  soon.  1  don't  think  I  can 
bide  here  much  longer,  lad,  and  not  speak  out." 

"Get  to  bed,  then,"  said  Jesse,  "and  Heaven  pre- 
serve me  from  being  in  love.  It  seems  a  sore 
malady ! " 

And  Amos  slept  like  a  child  that  night,  and  had  no 
evil  dreams  to  disturb  his  rest.  He  must  forego  seeing- 
Mistress  Judith — and  was  not  that  foregoing  the  sun 
itself.^  But  he  was  going  straight  forward  on  the 
honest  path  ;  and  he  had  a  great  will,  and  a  great 
heart,  and  a  great  lovp.  And  now  there  was  no  fear 
of  Jesse  ;  it  seemed  to  Amos  there  never  had  been 
fear.  But  it  was  safe  enough  jigw  at  all  events.  He 
had  cast  himself  upon  his  brother's  honour  ;  and  now 
might  God  help  him  for  the  rest ! 

"Jesse '11  be  seeing  her  often,"  said  Amos,  as  he  laid 
his  head  on  the  pillow — "  so  long  as  he's  at   home  ; 


l6o  GOOD-BYE    AND 

and  he  '11  look  after  her — and  write  and  tell  me  how 
she  fares."  And  then  he  bid  God  bless  her  out  of  his 
soul,  and  fell  asleep. 

And  next  day  he  rose  with  a  load  taken  from  him. 
He  was  only  vexed  now  that  he  had  been  surly  with 
Jesse  without  cause.  He  could  not  muster  the  words 
with  which  to  tell  this  to  his  brother ;  but  all  the  day 
and  every  day  that  he  remained  at  the  farm  he  did 
his  best  to  atone  for  the  past. 

He  went  into  the  field  as  before,  carrying  Jesse's 
messages,  and  seeing  his  wishes  carried  out. 

The  brothers  were  so  united  again  that  Mistress 
BuUen  almost  wept  for  joy. 

Jesse  did  not  say  much  about  Amos's  going ;  but 
his  silence  meant  consent.  Mistress  Bullen  gladly 
undertook  the  farm,  till  such  time  as  the  examination 
was  over,  when  Jesse  could  see  and  judge  what  was 
best  to  do.  And  there  was  no  fear  of  the  farm  in 
Mistress  Bullen's  keeping. 

"  May  be  I  '11  take  it  myself,  lad,"  said  Amos,  "  if 
you'll  trust  me  again  with  it.  That  is,  if  I  can  get 
Camber's  farm,  and  be  close  at  hand  to  look  after 
tilings  a  bit  for  }'ou." 

And  Jesse  said  he  thought  that  might  do  very 
well. 

In  the  meantime  Amos  settled  to  leave  Haslington 


NO    GOOD-BYE.  l6l 

in  three  days'  time  ;   just  ten  days  after  Jesse  had 
returned. 

As  the  time  grew  near  he  longed  for  it  more  than 
he  dreaded  it.  It  was  hard  work  stopping  there,  and 
dropping  out  of  his  Hfe  all  the  sweetness  of  it. 

He  shunned  the  Rectory  gate,  or  rode  quickly  past 
it,  hardly  letting  himself  look  in  at  the  forbidden  fruit. 
But  a  round  straw-hat  moved  beyond  the  hedge,  and 
a  voice  spoke  often,  as  he  passed.  Not  to  him  ;  but 
to  some  pet  bird,  to  Bully,  to  rough  Ruth,  or  to 
Master  Hurst. 

To  go  in  and  see  her,  to  hear  she  was  sorry  he  was 
going — ah,  if  he  could  !  But  no — hadn't  Jesse  said  it 
was  not  fair  and  honest.''  hadn't  Jesse  showed  him  it 
was  not  fair  to  Mistress  Judith  herself.'' 

Amos  knew  nothing  of  love,  save  as  it  had  come  to 
him.  He  did  not  think  all  was  fair  in  war  and  love. 
He  had  a  few  broad  strong  lines  of  right  and  wrong 
which  he  held  to  with  unswerving  rectitude.  Any- 
thing false,  unfair,  anything  that  did  not  savour  of 
frankness  and  truth,  was  hateful  in  his  eyes.  If  he 
could  not  tell  the  Parson  of  his  love — and  he  felt  as 
yet  he  dared  not — neither  could  he  or  should  he  trust 
himself  with  ]\'^istress  Judith. 

The  last  day  came ;  and  Amos  knew  he  must  go 
and  say  good-bye.     He  would  put  it  off  till  the  last 


l62  GOOD-BYE    AND 


hour,  the  very  last  hour  he  could  with  propriety  intrude 
himself  on  the  Parson. 

Jesse  had  ridden  to  Cambridge  to  get  a  book  he 
v.anted  for  the  examination  ;  he  would  not  be  back 
till  dark.  Mistress  Bullen,  sighing  now  and  then,  was 
mending  shirts  and  socks  for  her  Benjamin.  He  had 
been  a  good  deal  with  her  that  day ;  he  felt  a  little 
downcast — his  work  at  the  old  place  was  over ;  and  he 
hardly  knew  what  he  had  before  him.  He  was  leaving 
his  mother,  who  was  downcast  too  ;  he  was  leaving 
the  old  folks  of  Haslington,  who  had  got  to  be  his 
friends,  and  he  would  never  be  to  them  as  he  had 
been  before.  It  would  not  be  his  place  any  longer  to 
counsel  them,  to  help  them  out  of  their  difficulties,  to 
apportion  their  work  with  some  regard  to  their  age 
and  their  strength.  And  he  had  no  refuge  from  his 
melancholy  now.  He  looked  at  the  Rectory  windows 
across  the  fields,  and  knew  he  could  not  go  there  ; 
not  till  six  o'clock,  when  it  would  be  getting  dark; 
and  then  it  would  be  to  say  good-bye. 

At  five  o'clock  he  came  out  of  the  house,  and  leaned 
upon  the  bridge.  The  great  red  sun  was  taking  its 
evening  look  into  the  sluggish  water.  Up  and  down, 
up  and  down,  the  swan  was  sailing.  Little  fish 
appeared  suddenly  and  plumped  again  with  a  splash 
into  the  water.     And  the  trails  of  ivy  were  drawn  by 


NO    GOOD-BYE.  163 

the  feeble  current  under  the  bridge,  where  there  was 
a  clear  sandy  pool,  grown  over  with  waving  weeds, 
among  which  the  minnows  were  darting. 
}  Amos  looked  up  the  stream,  where  it  lost  itself  in  a 
green  vista  ;  a  little  lower,  where  a  garden  of  tall 
rushes  bowed  from  either  side  and  touched  ;  lower 
still,  and  nearer,  where  it  widened,  and  the  garden 
came  down  to  meet  it  on  one  side  and  the  paddock 
on  the  other. 

He  looked  at  the  face  of  the  sun,  and  at  his  own 
face,  in  the  water  ;  he  looked  at  the  swan,  the  fishes, 
the  sandy  pool.  But  he  was  listening  for  the  first 
stroke  of  six  from  the  church  clock  ;  and  as  it  fell,  he 
lifted  himself  from  the  bridge,  and  went  down  the 
road  to  the  Rectory. 

Mistress  BuUen,  with  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  stood 
at  the  window  and  saw  him  go. 

In  three  minutes'  time  his  hand  was  on  the  gate  ; 
he  had  crossed  the  pathway,  and  was  knocking  at  the 
half-open  door. 

Kuth  took  some  time  to  answer ;  when  she  came 
she  was  wiping  her  bare  arms  with  her  apron.  Surely 
the  house  was  very  still. 

"  Master  Ingrey — he  be  gone  out,  sir — and  Mistress 
Judith  too — they  be  gone  Paxton  ways,  I'm  thinking, 
in  the  four-wheel.       Didn't  leave   no  word    as   when 


l64  GOOD-BYE    AND 

they'd  be  home  ;  I  think  as  they'll  took  tea  along  of. 
the  minister  at  Paxton  ;  leastways  Missus  Judith,  she 
got  a  letter,  and  it's  like  it  were  from  the  minister's 
lady — I  were  a-washin',  and  the  mile-man  he  comes 
along,  just  as  I  moight  be  standin'  here,  ye  see — and 
says  he  to  me " 

But  Amos  had  turned  away,  and  the  garden  gate 
swung  back  and  closed  itself,  as  his  step  went  heavily 
up  the  road. 

At  the  corner  where  the  roads  meet  below  Trotter's 
End,  he  met  Jesse  riding  leisurely  home,  and  by  his 
side,  with  his  basket  on  his  arm,  walked  Paxton  Dick, 
looking  on  the  ground  as  usual. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  lad  ?"  asked  Jesse, 

But  Amos  did  not  answer.  He  did  not  care  to  say 
before  Paxton  Dick  where  he  had  been.  And  Paxton 
Dick  walked  up  to  Trotter's  End  by  Jesse ;  saying 
he  had  some  eggs  for  Jephtha  Parcell. 

"  I  suppose  Parson  was  out,  lad  ? "  asked  Mistress 
Bullcn,  when  they  had  sat  down  to  tea  in  the  low 
dining-room  with  its  black  oak  wainscoat  and  mantel- 
shelf. 

"  Yes,  mother,  he  was  out ;  gone  to  Paxton." 

So  he  had  had  an  interview  with  Mistress 
Judith  alone  probably,  thought  Jesse,  and  whistled 
mentally. 


NO    GOOD-BYE.  165 

Next  morning  the  gig  was  at  the  door  betimes, 
and  Jephtha  was  carefully  putting  in  Jesse's  empty 
portmanteau,  instead  of  Amos's  full  one,  when  he  was 
told  rather  roughly  to  use  his  eyes,  and  such  wits  as 
he  had  been  blessed  with. 

It  was  only  six  o'clock  :  the  air  was  fresh 
from  sleep;  the  gleaners  were  hardly  astir  yet, 
though  here  and  there  in  the  village  a  housewife  was 
dressing  her  children,  or  shaking  a  bit  of  carpet  at 
the  door. 

The  cocks  were  strutting  in  the  yard,  and  the  cows 
were  lowing,  because  they  had  not  been  milked.  And 
Jael  stood  crying  in  the  doorway,  seeing  the  last  of 
Master  Amos. 

-  "  Good-bye,  mother,  and  God  bless  thee,"  he  said  at 
last,  putting  his  arm  round  her  and  kissing  her  once. 
And  then  he  shook  Jesse  by  the  hand,  and  said, 
aside, — 

"  I  trust  you  to  tell  me  about  her,  lad — I  trust 
you.  And  if  anything  should  go  amiss  with  her,  or 
that " 

"  Get  in  then,  Avill  'ee,  Maister,''  said  Abraham,  the 
ploughman,  who  was  holding  the  horse;  "them  railway 
'chines  doesn't  wite  for  no  man,  so  I  hears." 

And  Amos  jumped  up,  took  the  reins  in  his  hands, 
and  in  an  instant  was  out  of  sight. 


l66  GOOD-BYE    AND    NO    GOOD-BYE. 

Master  Hurst  looked  out  of  his  window  and  waved 
his  red  handkerchief  feebly. 

But  out  of  the  lattice  across  the  road  looked  no  one. 
Only  the  morning  sun  shone  back  from  the  gable. 
Very  coldly,  thought  Amos  Bullen  j  very  coldly  the 
sun  shone. 


■    CHAPTER    XIX. 

PERPLEXITY,  AND   PAXTON   DICK. 

JESSE  BULLEN  was  in  a  perplexed  mood,  now 
that  Amos  was  gone.  Yesterday  he  had  in- 
dulged unconsciously  in  a  secret  satisfaction  at 
the  thought  of  being  master  of  the  field,  and  amusing 
himself  as  he  liked  with  pretty  Mistress  Judith.  As 
he  had  ridden  along  the  Cambridge  road  he  had 
thought  quite  as  much,  perhaps  more,  of  his  examina- 
tion than  of  her ;  but  he  had  thought  of  her  too,  and 
it  gave  him  a  sense  of  pleasantness  when  he  turned 
his  horse's  head  homewards  to  think  that  Haslington 
was  not  such  a  dull  place  after  all.  He  even  looked 
up  and  down  as  he  came  within  a  mile  or  two  of  the 
village,  to  see  if  a  large  straw-hat  were  anywhere  to 
be  seen. 

He  had  got  the  book  he  wanted,  and  he  was  trying 
to  put  the  thought  of  the  examination  from  him,  that 
he  might  enjoy  pleasanter  thoughts  ;  and  altogether 
the  world  seemed  worth  living  in,  just  for  the  present, 
in  spite  of  having  left  Paris  and  come  home. 


l68  PERPLEXITY,    AND 

But  a  mile  or  two  from  home  things  changed. 
Instead  of  Mistress  Judith,  Paxton  Dick  had  been 
overtaken  on  the  road.  He  had  doffed  his  hat  obse- 
quiously to  Jesse,  and  Jesse  had  swallowed  the  bait, 
slackened  pace,  and  begun  to  talk. 

He  had  no  intention  of  a  conversation  when  he 
began.  But  there  were  two  voices  in  that  matter. 
Paxton  Dick  intended  fully  that  there  should  be  a 
conversation,  and  he  was  clever  enough  to  reckon 
upon  Jesse's  gentlemanly  manners  at  first,  and  on  the 
interest  of  his  information  later,  to  insure  a  hearing. 
Amos  would  have  given  him  the  cold  shoulder  at 
once,  or  a  surly  "good  night,"  and  ridden  off  But 
Jesse  was  not  Amos. 

He  almost  began  to  think  Amos  must  be  him,  how- 
ever, by  the  time  Paxton  Dick  had  finished.  Amos 
talked  of  with  Mistress  Judith — Amos  venturing  to 
have  serious  thoughts  of  gaining  her  !  Impossible, 
said  Jesse  to  himself;  quite  impossible.  If  it  had 
been  he  that  was  talked  of — vvcll,  that  would  have 
been  premature  to  say  the  least  of  it;  but  Amos! 
the  idea  was  absurd. 

Jesse  laughed  as  Paxton  Dick  talked — at  first 
innocently,  as  if  he  too  believed  the  village  gossip. 
Then  he  veered  round  and  took  the  other  vieAv,  and 
said  he  didn't  see  how  it  could  be  possible ;   he  had 


PAXTON    DICK.  169 

always  said  it  wasn't  possible,  that  it  would  not  be 
after  the  Parson's  mind — the  Parson,  who  held  so  by 
scholars ;  and  here  Paxton  Dick  blinJved  at  his  eggs. 
But  certainly  there  had  been  ground  for  it,  and  he, 
Paxton  Dick,  thought  he'd  better  just  mention  it  to 
Jesse,  who  might  mention  it  to  the  Parson.  It  was  a 
pity  the  young  lady  should  get  talked  about,  thought 
Paxton  Dick. 

And  then,  because  Jesse  Avas  too  proud  to  gratify 
him  by  asking  what  they  said,  his  informant  told  him 
graphically  certain  points  and  scenes  which,  told  as 
he  told  them,  were  no  doubt  a  little  startling.  They 
dropped  out  quite  naturally  and  easily  from  the 
hawker's  lips.  It  seemed  as  if  sitting  under  the  porch 
in  the  dark  with  Amos  were  quite  a  trifling  everyday 
occurrence;  only  one  night  Paxton  Dick  had  happened 
unfortunately  to  spill  his  eggs  there  just  at  the  gate, 
and  Amos  had  not  looked  well-pleased  when  he  came 
out  and  saw  that  any  one  had  had  a  chance  of  hearing 
or  looking  on.  And  he,  Paxton  Dick,  thought  he'd 
best  just  mention  it  to  Jesse,  as  "  the  young  lady  had 
no  one  to  look  after  her,  like,  no  mother,  nor 
nothing." 

There  was  a  bonne-boiicJie,  and  such  a  one  !  which 
had  not  been  told,  when  they  came  upon  Amos  at 
the   cross   roads.     It  was  just  as  well,  thought   the 


I/O  PERPLEXITY,    AND 

hawker :  It  might  come  in  with  more  effect  one  of 
these  days.  He  was  a  Httle  disappointed  at  the  cool- 
ness which  Jesse  displayed  all  through  his  narration, 
but  sometimes  folks  were  cold  outside  and  hot  in. 

When  Jesse  called  out  "Where  have  you  been?" 
and  Amos  made  no  answer,  Paxton  Dick  blinked 
again  at  his  eggs,  and  ventured  to  raise  his  blear 
eyes  a  little  above  Jesse's  boot.  But  he  said  nothing  ; 
it  was  unnecessary — after  his  conversation  nothing 
more  opportune  could  possibly  have  happened. 
There  was  Amos,  on  the  road  from  the  Rectory, 
and  refusing  to  answer.  Paxton  Dick  hoisted  his 
basket  with  renewed  energy,  and  with  a  dogged 
insolent  boldness  held  to  his  place  by  Jesse's  side 
till  they  got  to  Trotter's  End. 

When  Amos  said  that  night  that  the  Parson  had 
been  out,  Jesse  never  doubted  that  he  had  seen  Judith. 
He  could  not  well  ask  ;  but  he  said  to  himself  that 
for  once  Paxton  Dick  seemed  to  be  not  so  far  from 
the  truth. 

He  could  not  dismiss  the  idea  from  his  mind. 
It  rankled  there  a  good  deal  during  the  long 
evening  that  was  Amos's  last.  He  was  glad  it  was 
Amos's  last ;  for  out  in  the  world  he  would  forget 
these  foolish  fancies,  and  it  certainly  was  best  that  he 
should  oo. 


PAXTON    DICK.  171 

When  Amos  came  that  night,  and  told  him  all 
his  story,  he  listened,  and  said  to  himself  all  the 
while — "  So  Paxton  Dick  spoke  true  ! "  It  came 
in  like  a  refrain  after  every  fresh  outpouring, 
and  it  did  not  make  him  feel  more  comfortable  by 
any  means.  That  the  Parson  would  not  approve 
was  certain ;  but  then  Mistress  Judith's  opinion 
would  have  some  weight.  And  women  were 
wonderful  in  their  loves  and  likings.  Jesse  knew 
enough  to  know  there  was  no  rule  of  expediency 
for  them. 

After  Amos  was  gone,  Jesse  could  not  say  he 
was  distressed  or  anxious.  It  would  all  blow  off 
now  easily  enough.  But  still  it  was  tiresome,  this 
confidence  of  Amos  ;  he,  Jesse,  rather  wished  Amos 
had  kept  his  own  business  to  himself.  He  wanted 
to  have  gone  freely  backwards  and  forwards  to  the 
Rectory  to  see  the  Parson  ;  and  Mistress  Judith  too 
— why  not  .-'  Now  he  felt  as  if  Amos  had  thrown 
a  shackle  over  him,  and  he  was  teased  by  it.  It 
teased  him  for  two  days,  and  those  two  days  he  did 
not  go  to  the  Rectory. 

The  third  day  the  Parson,  who  had  missed  his 
"  lad,"  took  up  his  hat  to  go  out. 

"Where  are  you  going,  father.''"  asked  Mistress 
Judith,  looking  up  from  her  bock.     The  last  two  days 


172  PERPLEXITY,    AND 

she  had  read  a  great  deal  in  the  window-seat  of  the 
study. 

"  Up  to  Trotter's  End  ;  will  you  come  ? "  he  asked, 
from  the  hall. 

It  was  a  moment  before  Judith  answered.  Then 
she  said — 

"  No  ;  thank  you,  Father — I  'm  reading." 

It  would  not  have  been  a  satisfactory  answer  to 
every  one.  But  the  Parson  had  forgotten  he  had 
asked  her  before  she  had  time  to  answer,  and  was 
halfway  towards  the  gate. 

When  he  had  gone,  Ju'dith  sat  looking  after  him, 
with  the  open  book  on  her  lap,  for  a  long  time. 
Her  face  was  rather  grave,  and  the  tone  of  her 
voice  as  she  answered  her  father  had  not  the  same 
ring  in  it  as  usual.  She  sighed  once  as  she  sat 
musing,  as  if  she  were  tired  or  troubled.  A  little 
trouble  tires  one  a  deal  more  than  a  long  walk. 

Ruth  came  in  before  very  long,  and  did  not  like  to 
see  her  so  grave.     She  told  her  so  very  plainly. 

"  They  '11  be  s'ying  you  be  fretting  after  Maister 
Amos  an  ye  doan't  moind.  They  be  s'ying  that 
a'ready." 

Judith  flamed  up  in  an  instant,  though  she  hardly 
coloured  outwardly, 

"  Master  Amos  !     They  'd  best  hold  their  tongues. 


PAXTON    DICK.  173 

Master  Amos !  he  didn't  so  much  as  come  to  say- 
good-bye  to  me — so  it 's  very  hkely  he 's  my  sweet- 
heart." And  she  turned  to  the  window  again,  her  hps 
still  pouting  indignantly. 

"Didn't  he  though.?  he  de-id  then,"  said  Ruth 
drawling.  "  He  come  nolght  afore  last — no,  noight 
afore  that — was  it  1  and  ast  as  you  was  at  home, 
and  you  warn't." 

"  You  never  told  me,"  said  Judith,  and  now  she  did 
colour  a  little. 

"  Telled  'e  Parson,  I  did — telled  'un  as  sune  's  iver 
he  got  over  the  door.  If  I  'd  thought  he  wouldn't 
but  tell  you,  /'^'ave  telled  you,  I  would." 

"  Of  course  he  forgot,"  said  Judith.  "  You  know 
he  can't  remember." 

And  she  turned  to  the  window  again,  and  then  to 
her  book,  to  get  rid  of  Ruth.  And  already  her  face 
looked  less  tired.  Amos  had  not  been  quite  so 
unkind  after  all.  He  had  tried  to  say  good-bye, 
and  that  was  something. 

It  had  troubled  her  greatly — this  going  of  Amos 
without  a  word  of  farewell.  She  could  not  understand 
it ;  it  was  so  unlike  kind,  open-hearted  Amos.  She 
could  not  help  contrasting  it  with  his  behaviour  at 
other  times.  She  could  not  help  thinking  of  words 
he  had  said  to  her,  and  of  looks,  and  of  silences  she 


174  PERPLEXITY,    AND 

could  not  understand  but  that  had  almost  frip-htened 
her.  And  then  all  had  chancjcd  so  suddenly.  Since 
Jesse  came  she  had  hardly  seen  Amos.  He  had 
never  said  more  than  to  tell  her  the  day  he  had 
fixed  for  going,  when  she  had  spoken  to  him 
over  Master  Hurst's  hedge  as  he  came  down  the 
road. 

Even  then  he  had  seemed  impatient  to  get  away 
from  her.  And  if  he  had  wanted  to  say  good-bye, 
said  Judith,  he  could  have  clone  it.  He  could  have 
come  more  than  once  ;  he  could  have  come  earlier, 
not  putting  it  off  till  the  ver}'  last  hour.  He  could 
have  done  it,  said  Judith,  and  her  trouble  began  to 
change  to  anger,  as  women's  moods  will. 

Then  she  heard  steps  on  the  road,  and  the  latch  of 
the  gate  lifted.  She  ran  out  to  meet  her  father.  He 
was  her  own,  always  the  same;  he  was  never  fickle, 
never  changeable. 

She  almost  started  when  she  saw  Jesse  with  him. 
He  too  had  been  a  stranger  the  last  three  da^^s. 
She  felt  a  little  jealous  of  Jesse  for  the  first  time, 
as  she  saw  her  father  with  liis  arm  upon  his 
shoulder,  bringing  Jesse  in.  She  wanted  her  father; 
she  wanted  him  all  to  herself  She  wanted  some- 
thing at  that  moment  that  was  her  own,  and  that 
did  not  change. 


PAXTON    DICK.  175 

So  her  countenance  fell  when  she  saw  Jesse. 
He  noticed  the  fall,  and  did  not  like  it.  He 
noticed  too  that  she  looked  much  graver  than  he 
remembered. 

Could  it  be  possible  that  she  was  troubled  because 
Amos  was  gone .'' 

No,  said  Jesse,  she  never  mentions  him. 

It  was  quite  true ;  she  never  mentioned  Amos  all 
that  day. 

The  Parson  kept  Jesse  for  tea,  and  it  was  nine 
o'clock  when  he  went  away.  He  felt  quite  innocent 
as  he  walked  home  in  tlie  dark  ;  he  had  not  made 
any  love  to  Mistress  Judith. 

But  he  could  not  help  pondering  over  her  grave 
face,  that  fell  when  he  approached  her.  What  could 
Amos  have  said  to  her,  in  that  last  meeting,  when 
the  Parson  was  at  Paxton,  and  they  must  have  been 
alone  ?  Amos  could  not  have  told  her  of  his  love, 
that  was  certain.  Jesse  never  doubted  Amos's  word 
in  that  matter.  But  there  was  the  spirit  as  well 
as  the  letter  ;  what  might  not  be  said  might  have 
been  implied.  Looks  could  say  what  words  could 
not.  Why,  in  the  very  voice  in  which  he  said 
good-bye  he  could  tell  her  that  he  loved  her.  Jesse 
knew  as  much  as  that,  though  he  had  never  been 
in  love. 


T 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE   LETTER   THAT   WENT   TO   AIMOS. 

WO   mornings  after  this  the  Parson  set.  forth 
again  to  find  his  lad.     He  did  not  like  being 
two  whole  days  without  seeing  him. 

It  was  a  beautiful  fresh  harvest  morning,  and 
Judith's  spirits  had  risen.  She  was  not  going  to  fret 
about  Amos ;  if  Amos  did  not  care  to  say  good-bye 
to  her,  she  had  her  father  and  Bully,  and  they  were 
always  true,  always  the  same. 

"Where  are  you  going,  father .''"  she  asked  again, 
as  he  left  his  books  and  went  to  look  for  his  hat.  It 
was  one  of  the  few  things  he  remembered  to  do. 
Judith  was  turning  out  a  rag-bag  in  a  cupboard. 

The  Parson  was  half  ashamed  to  say  he  was  going 
to  Trotter's  End  again.  He  felt  it  was  not  a  bit  like 
himself  to  do  it. 

.  "  Ah — up  the  village,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  and 
then  in  a  nonchalant  tone — "  And  perhaps  I  may 
look  up  the  lad,  and  bring  him  home  to  lunch.  I 
have  got  some  papers  to  shew  him." 


WENT    TO    AMOS.  I77 

"  Oh  then,  if  you  're  going  up  the  village,  father, 
I  wish  you  'd  call  at  Mistress  Mulberry's,  Joe's  wife, 
and  give  her  these  rags." 

"Rags,  eh?"  said  the  Parson  absently — "rags.''" 

"Yes — she  wants  them;  they're  linen,  and  her 
hand  has  never  healed  yet.  Don't  you  remember 
how  ill  she  was  three  months  ago  .'' " 

"  Oh — ah — ill,  eh  ^  she  was  ill,  was  she  .'*" 

"  Yes,  you  went  to  see  her  ;  she  w^as  very  ill,  and 
the  baby  died.  Don't  ask  after  the  baby,  father, 
remember ! " 

"  Rags  } "  said  the  Parson,  putting  on  his  hat 
"Dead,  eh.?  rags.?" 

And  so  went  out,  putting  the  little  bundle  in  his 
pocket. 

As  he  passed  a  door  at  the  upper  end  of  the  village, 
a  woman  came  out  suddenly  to  lift  her  "  lap-full " 
into  the  house,  where  it  was  to  be  threshed  in  homely 
fashion  upon  the  floor  with  great  flails.  Her  appear- 
ance recalled  Judith's  message  to  the  Parson's  mind. 
He  knew  Mistress  Mulberry  lived  thereabouts. 

"Oh — ah — you  are  Mrs.  Mulberry,  I  think.?"  he 
said. 

"  Naw,  sir,  two  do-ar  fur'er  up — this  side  them  brick 
housen." 

Arrived   at    the    right    door,    the    Parson    tried    to 

M 


178  THE    LETTER    THAT 

remember  why  he  had  come  there.  It  was  something 
about  health,  he  was  certain.  Ill,  eh  ?  he  was  sure 
Judith  had  said  she  was  ill. 

Mistress  Mulberry,  a  young  woman  with  clear  blue 
eyes  and  large  teeth,  was  sitting  in  the  chimney 
corner,  brooding  over  the  pot  upon  the  fire.  She 
had  a  very  sad  wistful  expression,  as  she  looked 
up  when  the  Parson's  tall  figure  darkened  the  door- 
way. 

"Oh — ah — Good  morning,  Mrs.  Mulberry,  my  dear," 
he  said  very  kindly.     "And  how's  the  baby.''" 

Mistress  Mulberry  made  no  answer.  She  cast  up 
her  eyes  once  with  a  sorrowful  reproach  at  the  Parson. 
Then  she  turned  away  her  head,  and  looked  again  at 
the  pot  on  the  fire. 

And  he,  looking  round,  saw  the  empty  wicker-cradle 
in  the  corner  ;  all  new  and  white  and  unused  ;  and  the 
little  patch-work  quilt  folded  away  upon  it.  He  could 
say  nothing  ;  but  into  his  keen  brown  eyes  the  tears 
welled  up  suddenly,  and  he  turned  upon  his  heel, 
and  went  away. 

It  was  not  the  first  time,  nor  the  second,  nor  the 
third,  that  the  Parson  had  put  that  question  ;  and 
each  time  he  had  received  the  same  answer  from  the 
empty  cradle.  But  association  was  too  strong  for 
him — he  remembered  seeing  a  baby  in  that  room,  and 


WENT    TO    AMOS.  I79 

was  certain  it  was  Mistress  Mulberry's  baby:  he  had 
baptized  it  there  too.  That  he  had  buried  it  before 
it  was  one  day  old,  that  had  quite  passed  from  him. 
Poor  Parson  Ingrey,  who  would  not  have  hurt  a 
worm  knowingly ! 

Judith's  bundle  of  rags  travelled  safely  up  to 
Trotter's  End,  and  safely  home  again,  when  he 
walked  back  with  Jesse. 

"  I  'm  sure  Amos  can't  accuse  me  of  poaching  on 
his  preserves,"  said  Jesse  to  himself.  "  If  I  keep  away 
I  'm  fetched  directly."  And  then  he  smiled  at  the 
idea  of  the  Rectory  being  Amos's  preserve  ;  any  one's 
preserve  but  his  own  indeed:  he  who  had  almost 
lived  there  since  he  was  a  boy :  he  who  was  almost 
essential  to  the  Parson's  happiness.  It  was  not  a 
'  little  flattering  to  a  young  man  to  be  sought  out  by 
such  a  man  as  Parson  Ingrey,  a  reserved,  reticent, 
absent  scholar.  No  wonder  Jesse  Bullen  was  a  little 
flattered. 

That  morning  Jesse  had  had  his  first  letter  from 
Amos. 

"  Dear  lad,"  it  ran,  "  I  am  getting  on  pretty  well, 
looking  about  me,  and  I  hope  learning  something. 
I  am  visiting  some  model  farms,  and  noticing  all  I 
can.  It  may  be  of  use  at  the  old  place,  as  well  as 
in  a  farm  of  my  own  if  I  get  one.     Love  to  mother, 


l8o  THE    LETTER    THAT 

and    tell    her    I  'm    faring    well. — Your    afifectionate 
brother,  Amos. 

"P.S. — If  any  of  the  old  folks,  or  any  one  at  the 
Rectory,  should  ask  after  nie,  pass  it  on.  If  she 
should  say  anything,  lad,  about  my  leaving  so  sudden 
or  that — tell  me.  I  'd  take  it  very  kindly  if  you  'd 
drop  me  a  line  soon." 

Jesse  sat  down  immediately,  and  wrote  as  follows  : — 

"  Dear  Amos,  according  to  your  wish,  I  write  at 
once.  Not  that  I  have  much  to  tell  you  from 
Haslington,  where  as  you  know  news  is  scarce.  I 
don't  know  that  any  one  in  particular  has  asked  after 
you.  I  have  seen  the  Parson  and  Mistress  Judith 
once  or  twice.  They  said  nothing  about  your  leaving, 
or  that.  I  spent  the  evening  two  nights  since  at  the 
Rectory.  All  there  and  elsewhere  goes  on  as  usual 
At  your  convenience,  let  me  know  your  reason  for  not 
sheaving  the  barley  as  well  as  the  other  crops  ;  and 
also  inquire  about  the  best  reaping  machines,  as  I 
intend  employing  one  for  the  future.  Love  from 
mother,  and  believe  me,  your  affectionate  brother, 

J.   BULLEN." 

Je.sse  had  just  closed  this  letter  when  the  Parson 
came  in.  He  put  it  in  his  pocket  that  he  might  post 
it  before  evening.  And  then  he  walked  off  to  the 
Rectory. 


WENT    TO    AMOS.  l8l 

After  lunch  he  essayed  to  leave.  But  the  Parson 
had  not  done  with  him.  He  had  been  writing  far  and 
near  for  information  about  the  examination.  He  had 
heard  of  a  tutor  who  would  undertake  to  pass  Jesse 
(from  the  Parson's  account  of  him)  after  six  weeks 
of  cramming.  They  talked  for  a  long  while  in  the 
study,  and  then  the  Parson  said  he  had  a  letter  to 
write  ;  and  he  ushered  Jesse  out  of  the  study,  bidding 
him  to  stay  for  tea.  What  could  Jesse  do,  turned 
out  of  the  study,  but  cross  the  hall  to  the  drawing- 
room,  where  Judith  sat  at  a  table  by  the  window 
frowning  over  a  long  bill  ? 

Jesse  very  soon  settled  the  bill,  made  out  the  items, 
and  asked  if  there  was  anything  else  he  could  do. 
And  Judith  was  very  glad  to  have  company,  she  had 
been  rather  lonely  these  last  few  days. 

"  You  see  Amos  was  always  in  and  out,"  she  said, 
breaking  through  her  reserve  when  she  had  warmed 
into  a  talk  with  Jesse  over  her  knitting.  "And  as 
I  've  no  other  friend,  I  miss  him.  Don't  you  miss 
him,  Jesse  .''  "  ' 

"  Yes,  oh  yes,"  said  Jesse,  "  but  you  see  I  'm  used 
to  doing  without  him." 

"Have  you  heard  from  him  yet.''"  asked  Judith, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Yes,  I  had  a  line  this  morning.      He's  in  London  ; 


l82  THE    LETTER    THAT 

he  says  he's  getting  on  first-rate  and  enjoying  himself; 
seeing  model  farms,  and  all  manner  of  things." 

After  a  moment  Judith  said,  "  I  wish  you  'd  say 
good-bye  for  me  when  you  write  to  him.  Say  father 
and  I  were  at  Paxton,  and  we're  both  sorry  not  to 
have  seen  him." 

"  You  did  not  see  him  then .-' "  asked  Jesse  startled. 

Judith  looked  up,  full  of  surprise.  Amos  then  had 
not  then  even  thought  it  worth  while  to  mention  that 
he  had  not  found  her  at  home.  Doubtless  it  had 
made  no  impression  on  him.  Of  course  he  had  left 
no  message. 

Jesse  seemed  to  divine  her  thoughts.  He  said,  with 
a  jerk — 

"  He  left  no  message  or  anything  that  I  know  of. 
I  thought  you  had  seen  him,  of  course." 

Judith  silently  knitted.  When  she  spoke  again  it 
was  not  of  Amos.  She  had  been  pained  to  the  heart ; 
and  now  she  felt  both  pained  and  angry.  But  Jesse 
should  not  see  it — what,  if  he  should  write  and  tell 
Amos  that  she  cared  whether  he  said  good-bye  or 
not  > 

So  she  talked  and  talked,  and  the  lamps  were 
brought  in,  and  the  bright  colour  had  come  again  into 
her  cheeks.  And  the  Parson  still  wrote  in  his  study, 
and  they  two  sat  on  in  the  little  drawing-room,  face 


WENT    TO    AMOS.  183 

to  face.  Jesse  in  a  low  arm  chair,  turned  his  hat  in 
his  hands,  and  tried  to  read  Mistress  Juditli's  face. 
He  read  the  beauty  of  it ;  but  the  great  eyes  that 
were  bent  upon  the  twinkhng  needles  were  hidden 
from  him  mostly.  What  might  those  eyes  be  hiding  ? 
thought  Jesse,  and  was  ill  at  ease.  The  beauty  was 
a  great  deal ;  it  riveted  his  eyes  to  the  pure  oval  of 
her  face.  But  the  oval  could  not  tell  him  what  he 
wanted  to  know.  He  did  not  yet  know  that  he  wanted 
it,  or  he  would  have  taken  up  his  hat  and  gone.  But 
he  did  want  to  know  all  the  same  whether  Mistress 
Judith  loved  Amos. 

He  thought  of  it  as  she  sat  at  the  tea-table,  eating 
very  little,  and  knitting  behind  the  urn.  Why  did 
she  not  eat  ?  what  had  taken  her  appetite  from  her  ? 

He  thought  of  it  as  he  sat  in  the  arm-chair  in  the 
shadow  after  tea,  and  saw  her  sitting  too  in  the 
shadow,  always  knitting.  Why  did  she  sit  in  the 
shadow  .''  was  there  anything  in  her  face  she  cou/d  not 
show  ? 

He  thought  of  it  as  in  the  long  pauses,  while  the 
Parson  dosed,  and  the  needles  clicked,  and  Bully 
whined  in  his  sleep  upon  the  hearth-rug,  he  cast  up  in 
his  mind  the  women  he  had  seen,  and  found  them 
wanting.  He  cast  up  the  fairest,  wisest,  purest 
women  he  had  seen,  and   found   them  wanting.     By 


184  THE    LETTER    THAT    WENT    TO    AMOS. 

the  side  of  this  Mistress  Judith  he  found  them  all 
wanting. 

He  thought  of  it  as  he  rose  at  ten  o'clock,  feeling  he 
must  go  ;  and  he  thought  of  it  as  he  went  out  into  the 
darkness. 

He  thought  of  it  as  he  came  to  the  village  Post- 
Office,  and  felt  for  his  letter  in  his  pocket. 

"  If  she  should  say  anything  about  my  leaving  so 
sudden  or  that,  lad — tell  me,"  said  a  voice  in  the  car 
of  Jesse  BuUen.  It  had  a  true,  manly,  trusting  ring, 
that  voice. 

"  I  wish  you'd  say  good-bye  for  me,  when  you  write 
to  him — say  father  and  I  were  both  sorry  not  to  have 
seen  him,"  said  another  voice.  It  had  a  very  sweet 
tone  that  voice,  with  a  touch  of  sadness  in  it.  So 
sweet  and  so  sad,  that  Jesse  Bullen  was  irresolute  no 
longer.  He  dropped  the  letter  into  the  box,  and 
walked  quickly  home. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

"TliE   GLOAMING   OF   THE   YEAR,'* 

GLEANING  days  were  over,  and  the  harvest 
was  stored,  and  Christmas  had  come  before 
Gentleman  Bullen  had  left  Trotter's  End. 

He  had  the  "horkey"  for  his  men  before  he  left,  in 
the  great  barn  attached  to  the  farm.  They  drank 
beer,  and  ate  beef  and  mutton  to  their  hearts'  con- 
tent, as  their  fathers  and  their  fathers'  fathers  had 
done  before  them.  And  they  drank  the  health  of  a 
Bullen,  as  their  forefathers  had  done  too,  for  many 
and  many  a  generation  back.  And  they  thought  as 
they  looked  at  the  handsome  young  master  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  and  grew  warm  over  their  good 
cheer,  that  the  old  race  had  not  declined  anyhow,  for 
where  could  finer  young  men  be  seen  than  him  and 
his  brother  Amos,  all  the  world  over  .-• 

Next  day,  when  the  cheer  was  over,  and  they  felt 
none  the  better  for  it  on  the  whole — good  food  once 
a  year  is  a  dangerous  experiment— they  talked  more 
of  Amos,  and  of  how  his  hearty  face  was  missing  at 


1 86  " 


THE    GLOAMING 


the  feast  And  there  were  doubts  as  to  whether 
Gentleman  Bullen  cared  for  the  farm,  and  the  interests 
of  it,  as  Amos  had  done.  He  had  made  some  sHps 
at  the  "horkey,"  which  wise  old  heads  could  not  forget. 
He  had  said  he  supposed  there  would  be  no  ploughing 
till  after  the  New  Year ;  and  did.  not  every  boy  of 
eight  years  old  know  that  a  deal  of  the  ground  must 
be  turned  over  so  soon  as  the  crops  were  up  and  left 
lying  till  next  spring?  So  the  old  men  shook  their 
heads  next  day,  and  said,  they  believed  he'd  be  a 
gentleman  ;  he  were  that  already— but  he  'd  need 
some  training  to  be  a  farmer. 

They  would  have  been  scandalized,  indeed,  had 
they  kno\vn  that  Jesse  had  neither  wish  nor  inten- 
tion of  being  a  farmer  in  any  sense  of  the  word. 
It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  be  uncivil  to  labourers, 
especially  his  own — but  he  looked  at  their  rough 
hands  and  their  rough  faces,  and  thanked  Heaven 
he  was  going  to  be  a  soldier — an  officer — and  not 
a  sunburnt  son  of  the  soil. 

After  "horkey"  Christmas  came  with  great  strides. 

* 

Bleak  winds  blew,  snow  fell,  the  ivy  on  the  church 
chattered  and  shivered.  Master  Hurst  sat  over  the 
fire  and  tried  to  keep  his  poor  numbed  knees  warm, 
and  counted  his  years,  and  found  them  over  the 
allotted    time,    and    shook    his    head     when    Judith 


OF    THE    YEAR."  187 

came  to  see  him,  and  told  her  he  did  not  think 
the  Lord  would  forget  him  much  longer  now. 
And  she  sat  in  the  chimney  corner,  as  she  used 
to  do  when  she  was  a  little  child,  and  the  shadows 
flitted  and  danced,  and  the  flame  shot  up,  and  the 
red  locf  settled  :  and  she  and  Master  Hurst  talked 
much  as  they  used  to  do,  only  now  she  saw  no 
black  things  in  the  chimney,  and  no  Ruth  came 
to  fetch  her  back  to  tea. 

Master  Hurst  often  talked  about  Amos.  But 
then  talk  flagged  ;  Judith  had  not  quite  forgotten 
how  Amos  went  away  in  harvest,  and  never  said 
good-bye.  She  could  not  tell  Master  Hurst  about 
it  ;  she  would  not  have  told  any  one  for  the  world. 
And  yet  she  thought  of  it  often,  brooded  over  it, 
resented  it.  Such  an  old  friend  as  Amos — how 
could  he  behave  so  ? 

She  remembered  it  always  at  night  upon  her 
knees,  when  she  folded  her  hands,  and  laid  down 
her  face  upon  them,  and  prayed  God  to  forgive 
her  her  sins.  "  As  I  forgive  others,"  said  Judith — 
"  as  I  forgive  others."  And  then  lay  down  with 
tears  in  the  innocent  eyes,  and  found  a  little  trouble 
in  her  life  for  the  first  time  ;  and  thought  some- 
times, because  she  knew  no  better,  that  it  was  a 
great  trouble.     And  it    is  a  great    trouble    to  older^ 


i88  "the  gloaming 

wiser  folks  than  Judith  when  friends  seem  to  prove 
untrue. 

A  week  before  Christmas  it  was  settled  that  Jesse 
was  to  begin  werk  with  his  "  crammer"  the  first 
days  of  the  New  Year.  The  crammer  lived  in 
London,  and  to  London  Jesse  must  go. 

Judith  thought  it  was  a  very  dull  Christmas  : 
Amos  gone,  and  Jesse  going,  and  Ruth  with  no 
temper  to  speak  of  by  reason  of  chilblains.  She 
did  not  feel  any  heart  in  decorating  the  church, 
as  she  had  done  last  year  with  Amos ;  and  she 
never  sent  up  for  holly  to  Trotter's  End. 

One  of  the  men  noticed  this,  and  spoke  his 
mind  to  Gentleman  Bullen,  who  was  looking  at  a 
young  tree,  with  a  thought  of  transplanting  it. 

"  Mistress  Judith,  she  '11  be  after  them  berries 
surely — leastways  two  years  come  Christmas  she 
were  arter  them." 

"What  did  she  do.?"  asked  Jesse  carelessly,  poking 
the  bark  of  the  holly  with  his  stick. 

"  Stick  holly  and  green  stuff  in  them  holes,  ye 
see — pit  boughs  and  sich  all  along  o'  the  pews. 
Oh,  very  noice  it  du  look  to  be  sure,  when 's  all 
set  up  loikc  and  set  out.  Nobody  never  noticed 
the  church,  not  afore  her.  And  we  loikes  to  see 
'un  set  out  loike,  come  Christmas.     Maister   Amos, 


OF    THE    YEAR."  189 

he  were  t'  one  to  give  her  a  hand  wi'  the  job,  he 
were."" 

That  afternoon,  three  clays  before  Christmcis,  Jesse 
sauntered  leisurely  down  to  the  Rectory  in  the  after- 
noon. He  had  got  over  his  scruples  about  going 
there  a  good  deal,  and  went  and  came  as  he  liked. 
He  generally  had  some  business  with  the  Parson  to 
be  sure  ;  but  it  ended  in  a  chat  with  Mistress  Judith 
in  the  drawing-room  or  the  study.  It  was  too  cold 
for  sitting  under  the  porch,  as  he  had  heard  Amos 
had  done.  He  often  thought  of  that,  as  the 
withered  trails  of  clematis  touched  against  his  hat 
as  he  passed  under  it  ;  and  he  wished  it  was  not  too 
cold^or  sitting  under  the  porch  now. 

"  Are  you  going  to  decorate  this  year,  Mistress 
Judith .'' "  he  asked  casually,  after  he  had  been  a 
little  time  at  the  Rectory,  sitting  opposite  to 
Judith,  who  was  on  a  low  stool  by  the  fire  looking 
out  a  sermon  for  her  father  out  of  the  bundle. 

"  No,  I  've  no  mind  to,  this  year — there  's  no  one 
here  can  help  me.  And  it 's  such  hard  work  doing 
it  alone.  If  I  get  Mr.  Cocks,  he  spoils  it  all. 
Jacklin  is  going  to   put  some  holly  up,  I  think." 

"  It  seems  a  pity  if  it  has  been  done  hitherto," 
said  Jesse,  flicking  a  half-dead  fly  off"  his  trouser 
— "  to  give  it  up  without  good  cause." 


^9°  "the  gloaming 

Mistress  Judith  was  not  used  to  be  so  spoken  to, 
for  there  was  something  tart  in  Jesse's  manner. 
She  looked  up,  pursing  her  Hps  a  Httle,  and  her 
face  tinged  with  colour. 

"  It  has  not  been  done  hitherto.  I  did  it  the  last 
two  years — Amos  and  I.  And  I  '11  do  it  again 
may  be,  when  Amos  comes,"  she  added,  speaking 
warmly,  for  her  spirit  was  roused.  She  would  have 
spoken  just  so  to  Amos,  if  he  had  provoked  her. 
She  was  used  to  the  greatest  possible  deference 
from  every  one  but  Ruth  :  more  especially  was  she 
used  to  it  from  the  two  Bullens.  The  decoration 
or  non-decoration  of  the  church,  she  felt,  was  quite 
a  matter  for  her  to  decide. 

"  Mistress  Judith  objects  to  decorating  the  church," 
said  Jesse,  as  the  Parson  entered — "  on  the  ground 
that  my  brother  is  not  here." 

"  On  the  ground  I  have  no  one  to  help  me  as 
Amos  did,"  said  Judith,  turning  over  the  sermons 
very  quickly. 

"  And  why  should  my  lad  not  help  you  } "  asked 
the  Parson,  putting  his  hand  on  Jesse's  shoulder. 

"  He  's  going  to  be  a  soldier — he  wants  to  keep 
his  hands  nice.  He  won't  care  to  finger  holly," 
said  Judith,  smiling  in  spite  of  herself  at  her  own 
pettishness. 


191 


Jesse>  who  saw  that  she  was  not  in  an  amenable 
frame  of  mind,  dropped  the  subject,  and  talked  to 
the  Parson.  But  his  eyes  followed  Mistress  Judith 
about  the  room,  as  she  slipped  the  sermon  into  its 
faded  velvet  case,  and  took  up  her  knitting.  He 
did  not  stay  very  late  that  night  ;  and  when  he  left 
he  felt  he  could  not  Say  that  he  had  enjoyed  him- 
self. As  he  walked  up  the  village,  his  trouble  grew 
upon  him  :  he  began  to  feel  tormented,  wretched. 
He  did  not  sleep  soundly  that  night  :  it  was  the 
first  time  his  sleep  had  been  broken  since  he  teethed. 
And  he  awoke  next  morning,  feeling  things  were 
not  going  rightly  with  him.  Things  had  always 
gone  rightly  before,  and  Jesse  did  not  approve  of 
the  least  halt  in  Fortune's  wheel. 

That  morning,  as  he  walked  about  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  and  stood  frowning  at  the  pigs  by 
way  of  overlooking  the  work  of  the  farm,  a  great 
many  disagreeable  remembrances  flitted  across  his 
mind. 

Gentlemanly — Jesse  adjusted  his  hat — talented,  the 
eldest  son — Jesse  looked  back  at  the  long  brick 
house  with  the  creepers  on  it — was  it  possible  that 
after  all  a  woman  such  as  Mistress  Judith  should 
not  like  him  .-'  was  it  possible  she  could  like  Amos, 
the  younger,  the  farmer,  the  dunce  ? 


192  "the  gloaming 


Disagreeable  tales  of  true  love,  that  knows  no  let 
or  hindrance,  that  tramples  brains,  looks,  manners 
under  foot,  and  chooses  its  own  ideal,  came  to  his 
remembrance.  But,  said  Jesse,  after  all  it  was  on 
none  of  his  separate  talents  or  attributes  that  he 
should  stake  his  success — if  he  were  trying  to  win 
a  woman,  said  Jesse,  in  mental  parenthesis.  Tt  was 
the  aggregate,  himself,  him,  Jesse  Bullen,  who  must 
have  a  better  chance  than  most  men  ;  he  felt  he 
ought  to  have  a  pretty  wife,  with  a  good  dower : 
and  he  thought  all  the  world  must  feel  the 
same. 

Then  Mistress  Judith's  words  and  high  colour 
came  back  to  him.  "  I  '11  do  it  again  when  Amos 
comes  back,  may  be." 

And  then  his  thoughts  travelled  back  to  the  days 
when  they  were  children,  and  he  was  favoured  by 
the  Parson,  a  rare  rising  lad  who  could  learn  any- 
thing. And  Mistress  Judith,  in  a  white  sun-bonnet, 
pouted  her  lips  at  him,  and  would  not  play.  Jesse 
had  a  very  retentive  memory  for  other  things  than 
lessons.  He  remembered  distinctly  a  little  figure 
lost  in  an  agony  of  grief  between  Bully's  ears. 

"  O  father,  father  !  I  don't  want  that  boy !  I 
don't  want  that  boy  to  play  with  me  ! " 

It    seemed    to    Jesse,    in    spite    of    himself,    that 


OF    THE    YEAR,"  I93 


Mistress   Judith    had    grown    up    loving   Amos,  pre- 
ferring Amos,  and  shunning  him. 

Next  day  Abraham  and  Jephtha  were  hewing 
branches  of  holly  off  the  best  trees  at  Trotter's 
End,  and  rolling  it  down  in  a  hand-cart  to  the 
Rectory.  Judith  looked  out  of  her  window,  and 
coloured  angrily. 

But  there  was  Jesse  himself,  apologizing  and 
deferential,  and  withal  manly.  He  was  so  sorry 
for  what  he  had  said, — he  hoped  Mistress  Judith 
would  foreive  his  interference.  He  owned  he  had 
spoken  hastily,  and  it  had  troubled  him  ever  since. 
Might  he  have  the  holly  brought  in,  to  be  used  or 
not,  as  Mistress  Judith  wished  .'* 

And  Mistress  Judith,  looking  up  at  his  handsome 
young  face,  and  seeing  a  real  look  of  distress  and 
humility  there,  settled  to  decorate  the  church  to- 
morrow with  his  help,  and  forgave  him. 


N 


CHAPTER    XXTL 

PARSON   INGREY'S   PROMISE. 

SO    Jesse    Bullen,  lifting  his  hat,  and  settling  It 
again   with    a    sense   of    relief,  walked  home- 
wards.    And  as  he  went,  he  met  Parson   Ingrey. 

"Lad,"  said  the  Parson,  "where  have  you  been?" 

"  Went  to  take  some  holly  to  IMistress  Judith,  sir," 
said  Jesse,  smiling. 

The  Parson  smiled  back. 

"  Have  you  tamed  the  shrew  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Mistress  Judith  wishes  now  to  decorate  the 
church  to-morrow,  sir,"  replied  Jesse,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  Ah — so  you  have  got  your  way  with  her,  lad. 
You  have  made  even  a  wilful  woman  to  give  up 
her  way.  You  need  not  fear  the  examination  after 
that,  eh  ? " 

"Well,  I  hope  not,  sir;  but  I  cannot  be  confident. 
Cleverer  men  than  I  have  failed." 

Humility  in  Jesse  Bullen  was  very  becoming  :  it 
made  a  sort  of  sudden  change  from  a  proud  major 
to  a  tender  minor  that  came  in  with  great  effect. 


PARSON    INGREY'S    PROMISE.  I95 


But  a  sudden  change  came  over  the  Parson  at 
the  same  moment. 

"  Failed,  Jesse  Bullen  !  "  he  exclaimed — "  name 
no  such  word  to  me.  Remember,  lad,  you  dis- 
appointed mi-  once  :  I  had  destined  you  for  better 
things  than  you  are  aiming  at  now.  You  gave  up 
that,  lad,  and  it  cut  mc  to  the  heart.  Don't  talk 
of  failure  nozv" 

Jesse  had  never  seen  the  Parson  so  excited. 
There  was  a  long  silence  as  they  paced  side  by 
side.  When  they  came  to  the  cross-roads  below 
Trotter's  End,  the  Parson  stopped  and  laid  his  hand, 
in  the  old   fashion,  on  Jesse's  shoulder. 

"  Lad,"  said  he  solemnly,  "  I  have  no  son  of 
my  own.  May  be  it 's  well  ;  since  God  has  ordered 
it  so,  it  must  be  well.  I  've  looked  upon  you, 
lad,  almost  as  my  own — you  know  that.  And  I 
tell  you  now,  lad,"  and  Parson  Ingrey  turned  his 
face  away  for  an  instant  ;  he  was  a  very  reserved 
man,  and  he  seldom  spoke  so  plainly — "  there  '.: 
nothing  I  will  deny  you  ;  nothing  that  's  in  my 
power  and  keeping,  if  you  will  be  a  credit  to  your 
mother,  to  your  name,  to  yourself,  and  to  me. 
Lad,  do  you  understand  me  } " 

Jesse  coloured,  and  in  a  low  voice  he  said  quickly, 
"  I  understand,  sir, — I  hope  T  don't  understand  too 


196  PARSON    INGREY'S    PROMISE. 

much.     God  help  me,  I  can't  help "     And  then 

he   checked  himself,  and  was  silent. 

Reserved  Parson  Ingrey  liked  him  all  the  better 
for  that. 

"  You  cannot  understand  too  much,"  said  he. 
"  Prove  yourself  worthy,  keep  yourself  straight,  lad. 
It 's  a  good  rule  to  be  sure  of  success  and  fearful  of 
falling.  Sure  of  winning  what 's  good,  lad, — fearful 
of  being  overcome  of  evil." 

Again  there  was  silence,  and  then  the  Parson 
asked — 

"  Will  you  come  back  v.ith  me,  lad,  and  spend 
the  evening  snugly  ?  " 

Jesse  Bullen  looked  at  the  cross-roads.  There 
was  the  way  to  Trotter's  End  straight  before  him. 
There  was  the  smooth  broad  way  to  the  Rectory 
straight  behind  him.  It  was  four  o'clock  now 
and  the  light  was  fast  waning  ;  from  the  Rectory 
gables  through  the  trees  the  merry  lights  twinkled. 
At  Trotter's  End  there  were  no  lights  as  yet  ; 
Mistress  Bullen  was  fond  of  sitting  in  the  gloam- 
ing. 

The  outline  of  his  mother's  worn  cheek  in  the  silent 
dim  room — Mistress  Judith's  fresh  oval  face  by  the 
fireside  in  the  bright  lamp-light,  bent  over  her  knit- 
ting,  but    sometimes  raised    to  him.      Jesse   Bullen 


PARSON    INGREY'S    PROMISE.  I97 

weighed  the  two  pictures  in  his  mind  an  instant  as 

they  stood  in  the  twih'ght  at  the  cross-roads. 

Was     there    nothing    more    momentous    than    the 
r 
choosing  of  a  picture  .? 

Then  it  is  wonder  that  Jesse  Bullen  stands  irre- 
solute. There  can  be  no  doubt  which  is  the  fairest, 
nor  which  his  soul  loves  the  best. 

He  feels  there  is  something  more.  He  struggles 
with  himself,  he  opens  his  mouth  to  speak,  he  draws 
his  arm  even  from  the  Parson's  hold. 

But  upon  his  lips  the  words  die,  and  he  says 
instead — 

"  Thank  you,  sir, — you  are  very  kind." 

And  the  Parson  and  his  lad  pace  back  along  the 
smooth  broad  road  to  the  Rectory. 

But  as  they  go,  something  moves  in  the  hedge 
and  Jesse  starts.  It  was  only  a  blackbird  going  to 
roost.  He  fancies  he  hears  an  echo  to  his  steps  ;  but 
it  is  but  an  empty  echo.  He  looks  out  into  the 
darkness  if  perchance  a  tall  man's  figure  may  come 
to  meet  him  or  face  him  in  the  way.  But  Jesse 
lifts  his  hat  and  shakes  back  his  locks,  and  the  cold 
evening  air  of  Christmas  time  makes  him  feel 
better. 

"  He 's  had  his  day,"  said  Jesse  unconsciously  to 
himself,   as   the   porch   and  the   clematis   come  into 


198  PARSON    INGREY'S    PROMISE. 

sight,  and  he  is  crunching  upon  the  gravel  path, 
and  the  gate  has  swung  and  cHcked-to  behind 
them.  "  He  's  had  his  day,  and  now  it 's  mine.  I 
mean  no  harm  to  the   chap,  that  I  don't." 

And  the  Hght  streamed  out  on  to  Mistress  Judith's 
httle  myrtle  in  the  border,  and  within  her  voice  was 
sounding  musical  and  soft. 

"  What  is  the  child  singing,  eh  ? "  said  the 
Parson,  opening  the  door. 

Jesse  did  not  answer  ;  he  was  listening  to  the 
words  of  the  Christmas  carol  Mistress  Judith  was 
singing.  She  was  going  to  and  fro,  and  the  sounds 
ebbed  and  flowed,  ebbed  and  flowed.  But  Jesse 
could  hear — as  a  shadow  crossed  behind  the  blind 
— the  refrain  that  followed  on  each  verse — 

"  This  brings  gladness,  this  brings  gladness, 
To  you  and  all  mankind." 

And  in  spite  of  himself  Jesse  smiled  as  he  laid  his 
hat  on  the  hall-table. 

That  evening  was  like  many  other  evenings  that 
had  passed  before.  Nothing  beyond  bright  fires  and 
lamp-light,  and  the  click  of  knitting  needles  and 
Bully's  whining  dreams,  and  the  nodding  of  the 
Parson's  head  in  his  arm-chair.  If  Jesse  had  had 
time  to  think  of  it  he  would  have  wondered  at 
himself.     What  would   he   have  thought  of  this  in 


PARSON    INGREY'S    PROMISE.  I99 

Paris,  of  long  evenings  with  a  sleepy  country  parson 
and  his  daughter  ?  He  would  have  said  it  was  im- 
possible that  he  should  come  to  such  a  pass. 

But  Jesse  Bullen  did  not  care  to  think  of  Paris  : 
looking  at  Mistress  Judith's  face  he  could  not  choose 
but  wish  that  that  time  could  be  forgotten  ;  that  as 
easily  as  the  web  on  her  needles  was  run  out  when 
a  stitch  had  seemed  amiss,  so  that  passage  in  his 
past,  and  may-be  other  passages,  should  go  into 
nothingness.  And  now  as  he  sat  watching  her  it 
was  no  time  to  think  of  where  else  he  might  be, 
or  of  how  he  had  come  to  choose  her  company  night 
after  night.  He  was  carried  along  on  the  wings  of 
one  thought,  the  thought  of  her ;  he  had  lost  all 
consciousness  save  the  one  consciousness,  of  her 
presence. 

On  this  night,  two  before  Christmas,  they  were  a 
very  silent  party.  Sleep  had  overtaken  the  Parson, 
and  the  paper  had  slid  from  his  relaxed  hand  and 
his  knee  to  the  floor.  It  had  fallen  on  Bully  ;  and 
Bully  had  shaken  himself,  walked  out  from  under  it, 
and  settled  himself  in  another  corner. 

And  Jesse  sat  leaning  forward  in  the  low  arm- 
chair, leaning  forward  and  looking  at  Mistress  Judith. 
And  she,  with  a  bright  colour  in  her  cheeks,  tried  to 
look  as  if  she  did  not  feel  the  eyes  upon  her,  and 


200  PARSON    INGREY'S    PROMISE. 

could    not    do    it.     And  the  needles  flew  under  th< 
lamp-light.     That  was  all. 

At  ten  o'clock   Jesse   Bullen  sighed  involuntarily, 
■  and  said   good-night.     He   had   not  made   a  remark 
of  any  note  all  the  evening ;  he  who  had   so  much 
to  tell,  and  could  tell  so  well,  was  dumb  now. 

Mistress  Judith  said  to  herself  that  Jesse  puzzled 
her,  that  she  could  not  understand  him.  Yet  it 
seemed  to  her  after  he  had  left  the  room,  and  was 
putting  on  his  greatcoat  in  the  hall  (sent  down  to 
him  by  his  mother),  that  every  movement  had  its 
meaning.  The  sound  of  his  foot  moving  on  the  oak 
floor,  the  rattle  of  the  sticks  in  the  stand  as  he 
chose  out  his  own, — they  seemed  to  mean  something 
to  Mistress  Judith,  they  seemed  to  be  speaking  to 
her  all  the  more  for  Jesse's  dumbness.  She  put 
her  hands  up  to  her  hot  cheeks  when  he  was  gone, 
and  did  not  know  whether  she  were  sorry  or  glad 
when  the  door  closed  and  the  crunch -crunching  on 
the  gravel  ceased,  and  Ruth  drew  the  great  bolts  and 
stumped  to  bed,  and  Jesse  was  gone. 

He  was  gone,  and  Paxton  Dick  knew  it. 

"  Good  evening,  sir  ! " 

Jesse  started. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  .-* "  he  asked  sharply. 

*'  On  my  way  to  bed,  sir,  so  it  please  you.     The 


PARSON    INGREY'S    PROMISE.  20I 

same  way  as  yours,  sir,  part  of  the  way,  and  no 
offence.  I  was  considering  of  how  that  same  door 
opened  like  it  did  now  some  months  back,  and  a 
figure  as  Hke  as  could  be  to  yours,  sir,  comes  out — 
only  no  one  didn't  draw  the  bolts,  sir,  because  the 
servant  were  out,  and  so  as  it  chanced  were  the 
Parson.  But  he  didn't  come  out  not  alone,  sir,  like 
you,  he  didn't.  Out  she  come  along  of  him,  and  it 
was  time  o'  the  Feast,  sir, — says  she,  *  Take  me  to 
the  dancing-booth,  Amos,  do  ! '  And  off  they  went. 
It  was  getting  dark ;  but  my  wares  took  me  along 
that  way,  and  I  comes  on  them  standing  hand  in 
hand,  sir,  leastways  he  had  hold  on  her,  he  had,  and 
were  looking  her  close  in  the  face.  And  when  I 
comes  by,  they  thinks  better  of  it.  He  drops  her 
hand  sharp,  and  they  turn  back.  But  they  weren't 
not  quite  sharp  enough  for  Paxton  Dick,  not  they, 
though  it 's  likely  the  dancing-booth  didn't  see  them 
till  an  hour  or  two  later,  when  I  was  safe  away. 
Beg  your  pardon  for  telling  you  my  foolish  old 
tales,  sir, — you  don't  want  to  sell  no  fresh  eggs,  sir, 
do  you  .''  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue  and  keep  your  eggs  to  your- 
self," said  Jesse  ;  "  I  'm  perished  with  cold  and  don't 
mean  to  stay  talking." 

"Not    likely,   sir,"   said   Paxton  Dick   sneezing — 


203  PARSON  INGREY'S  PROMISE, 

"  not  likely,  sir."  And  was  left  tramping  by  himself 
in  the  dark. 

Jesse  Bullen,  with  great  strides,  spanned  the  road 
to  Trotter's  End.  In  the  old  elm  beside  the  bridge 
a  melancholy  owl  was  hooting.  He  was  surprised 
to  see  the  light  streaming  out  on  to  the  gravel  and 
the  garden,  and  the  door  standing  open. 

A  few  steps  nearer  and  he  saw  his  mother,  a  dark 
figure  framed  in  by  the  light.  Nearer  still,  and  he 
could  see  her  hands  over  her  eyes  as  she  peered 
out  into  the  dark,  and  then  he  saw  some  of  her  soft 
hair  floating  in  the  chill  wind. 

"  Mother  !  here,  in  the  cold  >'* 

"  Ay,  lad,  lad, — we  're  going  to  have  a  blithe  Christ- 
mas !  I  couldn't  forbear  coming  to  tell  you.  Amos 
is  coming  for  a  week,  and  he 's  to  be  here  on  Christ- 
mas Day  !  Your  head  doesn't  ache,  does  it,  dear 
son  .-*  "   she  asked  tenderly. 

"  No,  of  course,  it  doesn't  So  Amos  is  coming, 
is  he?" 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

AMOS   IS   COMING. 

TT  was  not  a  thought  Hkely  to  pass  from  Jesse's 
mind,  and,  as  he  dressed  in  the  morning 
and  shaved  his  firm  cheek,  it  rang  changes  con- 
tinually. 

"  So  Amos  is  coming,  is  he  ? "  An  hour  later 
he  was  at  the  Rectory,  waiting  for  Mistress  Judith 
to  come  and  decorate  the  church.  And  an  hour 
after  that  they  were  decorating. 

Jesse,  as  nimble  as  a  squirrel,  was  up  and  down 
in  an  instant,  fastening  a  garland  at  the  top  of  a 
pillar,  tying  knots  like  a  woman,  and  ropes  like  a 
man.  Mistress  Judith,  in  a  labyrinth  of  holly,  held 
the  steps  below,  and  looked  up.  This  was  better 
help  than  Amos's.  Amos  was  very  willing  to  be 
sure,  but  then  he  was  rather  clumsy;  he  went 
slowly  up  and  down  the  steps,  and  made  a  sound 
between  his  teeth  as  if  he  were  grooming  horses 
when  he  came  to  a  difficulty.  Especially  in  the 
tying  of  knots  Amos  might  be  considered  a  failure. 


204  AMOS    IS    COMING. 

"1  think  we  might  follow  out  a  plan  I  saw  in  a 
church  in  France  last  Christmas,  Mistress  Judith, 
if  you  approve  it."  And  they  were  following  this 
plan  now. 

"  Where  did  you  go  to  church  in  Paris  .'' "  asked 
Mistress  Judith. 

"  Oh — to  different  churches,"  said  Jesse,  hesitat- 
ing a  little. 

"  I  wonder  where  Amos  goes  to  church  now^ — I 
wonder  where  he  '11  go  on  Christmas  Day,  don't  you  .■'" 

Jesse  had  his  mouth  full  of  string  and  could  not 
answer. 

They  went  in  to  dinner  together,  and  after  dinner 
they  went  back  to  the  church.  By  half-past  three 
it  was  almost  too  dark  to  go  on  with  their  work. 
Mistress  Judith  shivered. 

"Are  you  cold.''"  asked  Jesse,  with  a  solicitation 
in  his  voice  that   frightened    Mistress  Judith. 

"  Yes,    rather :  let  us  go  out." 

He  followed  her  silently,  they  walked  round  the 
garden  a  few  times  and  watched  the  red  lurid  ball 
of  the  sun  going  down  behind  the  poplars ;  and 
then  Ruth  began  drawing  down  the  blinds,  and  the 
long  evening  had  begun. 

Parson  Ingrey  had  gone  to  Cambridge.  He 
would  not  be  back  till  seven  o'clock. 


AMOS    IS    COMING.  205 

"  He  telled  me  to  say  as  he  wish  for  to  see 
you,  sir — and  you  warn't  to  go  away,  not  till  he 
come,"  said  Ruth,  bolting  the  windows  and  upset- 
ting two  chairs  all  at  once. 

"  Oh  : — and,  Jesse,"  said  Judith,  "  father  left  this 
letter  for  you  to  read — I  quite  forgot — I  'm  as 
bad  as  father  every  bit.  I  think  it's  from  your 
crammer." 

Jes.se  read,  and  as  he  read  his  countenance  fell 
and  fell. 

Ruth  had  gone,  shutting  the  door  behind  her. 
Judith  was  poking  up  the  fire  to  light  the  room. 

"Mistress  Judith,"  said  Jesse,  "do  you  know 
what 's  in  this  letter .''  " 

"  How  should  I  ? "  said  she,  trying  to  laugh,  but 
feeling  frightened  by  his  strange  manner  and  the 
stride  he  had  taken. 

Jesse  sat  down  in  the  low  arm-chair  and  put  his 
hand  over  his  forehead. 

"  I  must  go  to-morrow — that  is  all,"  he  said. 

And  that  zvas  all :  for  Mistress  Judith  said 
nothing. 

There  was  a  quarter  of  an  hour  that  seemed  an 
hour  to  Jesse,  of  perfect  silence. 

Judith  stood  at  the  window  looking  out  into  the 
dark,    and    wishing    her    father   would    come    home 


2o6  AMOS    IS    COMING. 

from  Cambridge.  She  was  afraid  even  to  tap  with 
her  soft  httle  forefinger  on  the  frosted  pane,  in  case 
the  sound  might  remind  Jesse  Bullen  of  her  presence. 
She  had  a  sort  of  heaviness  at  her  heart  thinkinsr 
he  was  going,  that  she  should  have  neither  him 
nor  Amos  any  longer.  And  an  indefinable  dread 
too  at  the  thouglit  of  his  being  in  the  room  alone 
with  her  at  that  moment.  Why  should  she  fear, 
she  who  was  so  unused  to  conventionalit}-,  so  used 
to  being  alone  with  Jesse  or  with  Amos  ?  She  did 
not  know,  only  she  feared. 

After  five  minutes  had  passed,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
the  silence  vibrated.  She  stood  looking  out  into  the 
dark  still,  but  no  wheels  sounded  in  the  distance. 
There  was  only  this  strange,  unnatural,  awful  silence 
between  her  and  Jesse. 

And  after  it  had  vibrated  till  she  thouoht  she  could 
hear  the  silence  pulsing  like  an  overcharged  heart, 
she  thought  she  must  look  round  just  for  an  instant, 
and  satisfy  herself:  Jesse  might  be  reading  a  book, 
might  be  still  reading  the  letter.      Slie  would  look. 

And  she  looked.  And  as  she  looked  her  heart 
beat  louder  than  the  silence.  For,  in  the  low  arm- 
chair sat  Jesse  Bullen,  with  no  book  upon  his  knee. 
Upon  the  floor  lay  the  letter  which  he  had  thrown 
from  him,  and  as  the  firelight  flickered  up  and  fell 


AMOS    IS    COMING.  207 

upon  his  face,  she  read  there  an  expression  so  new 
to  it,  so  dififerent  to  the  self-confident,  cold  smile  ot 
Jesse  BuUen,  that  she  asked  herself  whether  it  could 
be  he.  And  seeing  that  there  was  no  doubt  it  was 
he,  she  grew  more  frightened  still. 

With  her  small  hand  she  gently  took  hold  of  the 
curtain,  freed  her  foot  silently  from  the  folds  on  the 
floor,  made  quite  sure  where  the  door  was,  and  then 
— moved.  Mistress  Judith  was  no  coward,  but  she 
had  prepared  herself  cunningly  for  flight.  A  very 
dignified  flight  of  course — just  to  walk  quickly  across 
the  room,  ask  Ruth  for  the  lights  by  way  of  a 
pretext,  and  then  to  stay  out  of  the  room — for  a 
little  time,  at  all  events. 

In  another  instant  Mistress  Judith  was  a  prisoner. 

"Jesse — how  dare  you!  let  go  my  hand!"  And 
her  face  was  all  aflame  with  fright  and  anger. 

And  Jesse  stood  looking  at  her ;  looking  at  her, 
and  not  letting  go. 

"You  were  going  away,"  he  said  hoarsely — ''you 
were  going  away,  and  I  shouldn't  see  you  again. 
You  don't  care  for  what  I  sufl'er,  do  you  ?  Oh, 
no  ! "  And  he  laughed  bitterly.  "  You  don't  know 
what  is  the  matter,  do  you  ?  You  pretend  not — 
oh,  yes !  you  pretend  not.  You  don't  know  that 
my  life 's   being    eaten  out  of   me    bit    by  bit ;   and 


208  AMOS    IS    COMING. 

that  this  uncertainty  is  killing  me.  Who  were  you 
thinking  of,  looking  out  into  the  dark  there .'' — who 
were  you  thinking  of.-""  And  he  unconsciously  tight- 
ened his  hold  on  her  wrist  till  she  gave  a  little  cry 
of  pain. 

But  she  looked  up  at  him  with  terror  in  her 
innocent  grey  eyes,  and  said  firmly — 

"Just  then  I  was  thinking  of  Amos  and " 

Jesse's  laugh,  that  made  Mistress  Judith  shudder, 
broke  in  at  Amos's  name. 

"  Of  him,  yes,  of  him  !  and  I — I  'm  nowhere,  not 
to  be  thought  of,  cared  for,  spoken  to — only  your 
slave,  your  servant,  your  tool.  I  am  going  to-morrow, 
but  what  is  that  to  you  i* — nothing,  nothing  !  " 

And  here  Jesse  sank  down  in  the  low  arm-chair, 
covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  rocking  himself 
to  and  fro. 

Poor   little    Mistress    Judith    stood    fixed    on    the 
hearth-rug.    afraid     either    to     go    or   stay,    but    less 
afraid     now,    because    her    hands    were    free.       Her 
wrists  pained  her  still,  and  the   pain  stung  her  into" 
speaking. 

"  Jesse  Bullen,  you  Ve  hurt  me  very  much — 
you  have  been  very  rude  to  me.  Amos  would 
never " 

But    the   words   died  ;    for   Jesse,   tall   and    calm, 


AMOS    IS    COMlN-i,  209 

with     a     white     agitated     face,     stood     up     before 
her. 

"Judith,"  he  said,  "will  you  talk  to  me  a  moment? 
will  you  hear  what  I  've  got  to  say  ?  Don't  be 
frightened,  my  dear — please,  don't  be  frightened." 
And  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  damp  forehead, 
and  she  saw  by  the  firelight  that  an  infinite  ten- 
derness had  come  into  his  ayes  instead  of  anger. 
She  found  her  hand  held  softly  in  his,  and  she  found 
herself  facing  him  on  the  hearth-rug,  when  the  flame 
kept  shooting  up  and  illumining  his  handsome  face, 
and  then  falling,  and  leaving  only  his  voice  to  speak 
for  him. 

"  Don't  be  frightened  or  angry,"  he  began ;  "  it 
is  I  that  ought  to  be  frightened  at  myself,  for  I 
hardly  know  what  I  'ra  sa}'ing.  Only  you  know, 
Mistress  Judith,  surely  you  know  what  I  want 
to  tell  }'ou.  Will  you  gi\'e  me  any  hope — any, 
any  ? "  And  she  felt  the  hold  tightening  on  her 
wrist  again. 

"Sit  down  please,  Jesse,"  she  said  tremulously, 
"  Give  me  a  little  minute  to  think— just  a  little 
minute." 

So  they  sat  down,  opposite  each  other,  the 
firelight  hiding  and  revealing  the  faces  of 
each,   and   on    each   its    struggle.      Mistress   Judith 

o 


2IO  AMOS    IS    COMING. 

stared    into   the  fire   and   held    her   hands  tight  to- 
gether. 

So  this  was  love,  was  it  ?  She  had  often 
wondered  what  love  would  be  like.  Now  she 
knew  :  now  she  was  a  woman.  And  a  woman 
must  choose,  must  say  "  Yes ''  or  "  No."  And 
that  was  what  it  had  come  to  now. 

She  thought — and  over  her  flushed  face  came  a 
deeper  colour  at  the  thought — how  long  ago,  four 
long  months  ago,  she  had  looked  at  something  in 
Amos's  face,  and  asked  whether  this  could  be  love 
come  to  her  at  last .''  And  now  she  knew  that 
never  had  been  love — never.  Amos  had  gone 
away,  given  her  up,  forgotten  the  old  friendship, 
sent  no  message — no  regret — nothing.  And  Mistress 
Judith  looked  at  Jesse,  with  the  dark  lines  under 
his  wistful  eyes,  and  saw  how  he  was  waiting, 
waiting.  And  she  said  this  was  love — there  was 
no  mistaking  this. 

"Judith,"  said  Jesse  at  last,  with  a  sort  of  calm 
despair  in  his  voice,  for  he  had  misinterpreted 
her  long,  long  silence — "will  you  tell  me  one 
thing }  I  will  try  to  bear  it  like  a  man,  only 
tell  me — do  you  love — Amos  }  " 

Judith's  eyes  kindled  as  they  turned  from  the 
firelight   upon   Jesse.      Love   Amos,    who    had    for- 


AMOS    IS    COMING.  211 

saken   her  ?    love   where   her   love   was  not  prized  ? 
and  confess  it  ? — never  ! 

So  with  a  torrent  of  indiijnation  she  denied  it. 
^      "  Amos  and  I  were  friends — we  never  loved  each 
other — never." 

Jesse  came  across  the  rug  and  sat  down  on  a 
chair  beside  her. 

"  Mistress  Judith,"  said  he,  "  if  you  think  you 
ever  can,  if  you  think  there  is  any  hope  you 
ever  will — ^just  give  me  your  hand  will  you.?" 

Five  minutes  afterwards,  a  small  warm  hand 
wavered  for  a  moment  on  Mistress  Judith's  knee  : 
then  lifted  itself,  and  passed  into  the  big  hand 
of  Jesse  BuUen. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


A   CHRISTMAS   SECRET. 


MISTRESS  JUDITH'S  dreams  were  broken 
next  morning  by  the  carol  singers  under- 
neath her  window.  She  opened  her  eyes  and 
wondered  where  she  was  ;  and  the  old  old  words 
she  knew  from  childhood  came  ringing  out  lustily 
in  the  clear  morning  air. 

"  Sweet,  sweet,  sweet,  sweet 
Christ,  Thou  didst  Thyself  debase 
Thus  to  descend  to  human  race, 
And  leave  Thy  Father's  throne  above." 

There  was  a  weight  at  her  heart  tor  an  instant, 
just  one  instant.  And  then  she  remembered  that 
she  was  betrothed,  that  she  had  given  her  promise 
to  Jesse  Bullen. 

Upon  that,  leal  Mistress  Judith  was  very  troubled 
at  the  one  instant  of  heaviness  with  which  she  had 
awoke.  Heavy  at  heart  and  betrothed  ?  heavy  at 
heart  and  beloved  .-*  It  ought  not  to  be,  it  could 
not  be,  said  Mistress  Judith. 


A    CHRISTMAS    SECRET.  213 

Now  she  set  herself  to  find  a  good  cause  for  the 
heaviness  and  soon  found  it.  A  great  page  had 
been  turned  over  in  her  Hfe,  and  she  had  not  told 
]ier  father.  Not  that  it  was  to  be  a  secret  from 
him,  God  forbid  !  But  he  had  come  home  before 
she  and  Jesse  had  had  time  to  talk  of  how  they 
were  to  tell  him  ;  and  Jesse  had  said  only  hurriedly, 
"  Say  nothing  to-night,  my  darling, — not  till  I  have 
spoken  to  you."  And  when  Judith — troubled  and 
almost  guilty  at  the  idea  of  having  to  sleep  upon 
a  secret,  and  such  a  secret ! — had  looked  at  him 
with  an  appeal  in  her  eyes,  Jesse  had  gone  out  to 
the  door  to  meet  her  father. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  telling  him,"  said  Judith,  while  her 
heart  beat  high  and  fast  as  they  stood  a  moment 
talking  in  the  lobby  ;  and  when  they  came  iii,  she 
felt  proud,  thinking  how  they  were  her  own,  her  very 
own,  these  two,  and  how  very  handsome  was  Jesse. 

But  they  were  talking  of  very  common  matters, 
.  not  at  all  of  love  or  marriage. 

"  It  is  a  different  Christmas  from  the  last  for  me," 
said  Jesse  ;  and  Judith  looked  up  half  hoping  he 
was  going  to  tell  now.     But  he  went  on. 

"  I  was  at  Madrid  you  know."  And  then  he  told 
what  they  had  done  at  Madrid,  he  and  the  friend 
he  travelled  with. 


214  A    CHRISTMAS    SECRET. 

Judith  looked  at  her  tall  betrothed,  and  wondered 
how  he  could  talk  so  lightly,  seeing  all  that  had 
passed  since  last  he  saw  her  father.  But  he  had 
some  good  reason  no  doubt  for  keeping  silence  till 
to-morrow  ;  and  till  then  she  must  be  patient  and 
only  plan  what  they  should  say.  Should  they  go 
in  together  ?  would  it  be  before  breakfast  .?  She 
hoped  so.  She  wished  her  father  had  been  ten 
minutes  later  that  she  and  Jesse  might  have  planned 
it  all  to-nigJit,  and  told  him  all  to-nigJit. 

But  as  that  could  not  be,  what  could  she  do 
but  keep  silence  >  She  could  not  speak  of  other 
things  with  this  great  secret  lying  at  her  heart. 
And  when  Jesse  forced  her  into  conversation  about 
some  trifling  matter,  and  she  had  to  answer  whether 
she  would  or  no,  she  felt  as  if  she  were  lying — 
lying  to  her  father.  And  then  she  fell  again  to 
silence,  till  Jesse  rose  to  go. 

By  that  time,  what  with  his  long  cold  drive  and 
the  hot  room  and  the  hot  wine  and  water  (that  by 
the  way,  for  the  first  time  since  Judith  had  waited 
and  watched  for  him,  he  had  to  order  for  himself), 
the  Parson  had  begun  to  nod  in  his  arm-chair. 

Jesse  beckoned  to  Judith  to  leave  the  room  with 
him.  She  shook  her  head  doubtfully  ;  but  he 
beckoned  again,  and  she  went. 


A    CHRISTMAS    SECRET.  215 

And  in  the  hall,  under  the  swinging  lamp,  she 
looked  appealingly  at  him  once  more. 

"Mayn't  I  tell  to-night,  Jesse?" 

"  No,  no,  you  little  foolish  one,"  he  said  smiling, 
pulling  on  his  greatcoat  and  buttoning  it.  "  I  must 
talk  it  over  with  you  before  that.  It  has  been  a 
very  little  time  ours,  darling — 1  hardly  know  it 
myself  yet — you  don't  want  all  the  world  to  know 
it,  do  you  already  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  Jesse ! "  she  said,  looking  lovingly  at 
him — "  only  father,  because  you  know " 

"  Go  back  to  father  now,  my  darling,"  he 
answered,  "  and  I  will  see  you  again  to-morrow. 
Good-night,  my  Judith,  my  own!" 

And  he  put  his  warm  large  hands  round  her 
upturned  face,  as  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  softly. 

She  shrank  back  a  little  and  pushed  him  away 
gently. 

"  O  Jesse — not  again — not  yet !  " 

"  Not  yet  !  and  you  've  promised  to  be  my 
wife  !  "  he  said. 

"  O  yes,  but  Jesse — not  till  father  knows — please, 
I  'd  rather  not,  Jesse." 

And  Jesse,  answering  only  by  an  amused  smile, 
kissed  his  hand  playfully  as  he  turned  and  opened 
the  door  and  passed  into  the  darkness. 


2l6  A    CHRISTMAS    SECRET. 

Mistress  Judith  stood,  hesitating  a  moment,  look- 
ing up  at  the  swinging  lamp,  and  the  cold  blast 
Jesse  had  let  in  whirling  round  her.  Then  she 
•looked  into  the  drawing-room,  where  the  fire  had 
settled  down  low  and  red,  and  her  father  was 
nodding  in  the  chair  beside  it. 

She  went  softly  to  the  mantelpiece  and  lit  a 
candle.  Then  as  softly,  almost  timidly,  she  went 
up  behind  him  and  kissed  his  forehead. 

"  Going  to  bed,  Judith  .'' "  he  asked,  rousing 
himself.     "Are  you  tired,  eh — tired.?" 

"Yes,  a  little,  father,"  said  Judith;  and  could 
•not  for  the  life  of  her  dissimulate  more  boldly. 
And  so,  because  she  might  not  tell  him  of  her 
secret,  and  because  she  could  not  carry  it  before 
him  as  if  it  were  not,  she  ran  up  to  bed.  And 
then  dreams  came,  and  after  dreams  came  carols. 
"And  now,"  said  Mistress  Judith — "now  is  the 
time  for  telling  father  !  " 

She  could  not  rest  even  while  she  dressed 
herself,  but  must  be  always  looking  up  the  road 
for  Jesse.  Of  course  Jesse  would  be  as  eager  to 
tell  as  she  was  ;  he  had  only  put  it  off  last  night 
that  he  might  settle  how  they  should  say  it.  And 
now  it  would  be  a  real  Christmas  box  for  father. 
Perhaps   Jesse   had  put    it  off  just    lor   that  !     Just 


A    CHRISTMAS    SECRET.  217 

that    the    good    news    and    the    "  gladness  "    might 
come  on  Christmas  Day. 

She  was  disappointed  when  breakfast  time  came, 
and  with  it  no  Jesse.  She  would  rather  not  have 
had  another  meal  with  her  father  without  telling 
him.  She  could  not  cat  much,  but  kept  reading 
the  paper,  and  then  getting  up  nervously  and 
going  to  the  window. 

After  breakfast  came  church  bells.  There  would 
be  no  time  now  for  Jesse  to  talk  to  the  Parson 
if  he  came.  Mistress  Judith  begun  to  be  heavy- 
hearted.  She  did  not  want  to  say  her  prayers 
again  without  telling  her  father. 

Yet    it    must    be    so.       The    bells    stopped  ;    and 
Jacklin    came    running   to    fetch    the    Parson. .     And 
the     Parson    came    out,    getting     into     his    surplice 
as     he     went     along,     and     Judith     had     to     follow 
always  with  the  secret. 

"  Well,  only  for  an  hour  longer,"  she  said ; 
"Jesse  will  tell  him  after  church."  And  then  le* 
heart  warmed  to  Jesse,  her  lover,  her  betrothed  ; 
and  her  heart  beat,  thinking  how  she  should  see 
him  by  Mistress  Bullen  in  the  pew  across  the  aisle. 

And  so  she  went  in,  forgetting  to  look  at  the 
wreaths  of  holly  on  the  pillars,  forgetting  the 
texts    her    hands    had     painted    about    peace    and 


2l8  A    CHRISTMAS    SECRET. 

good-will  to  all  mankind.  Because  there  was 
something  new  and  great  to  think  about  this 
Christmas.  Had  not  the  Saviour  given  Jicr  a 
Christmas  gift  ?  Was  she  not  a  woman  now,  and 
loved  by  Jesse  BuUen  .'' 

Just  because  she  was  a  woman,  and  because 
she  was  loved,  she  durst  not  have  looked  up  at 
Mistress  Bullen's  pew  till  half  way  through  the 
first  prayer.  And  then  she  could  not  see,  for, 
kneeling,  the  great  pew  rose  all  round  her.  And 
so  it  fell  that  the  Venite  was  begun  before  her 
eyes  looked  up  from  under  their  white  lids  and 
travelled  across  the  way  to  rest  on  Jesse  Bullen. 

But  they  fell  short  of  Jesse  ;  for  there,  with 
his  great  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  and  his  lips  parted 
on  the  "  Come,  let  us  sing  unto  the  Lord  ! "  stood 
Amos.  But  his  lips  closed  as  his  eyes  met  the  eyes 
of  Mistress  Judith. 

Did  he  read  anything  there  that  silenced  him  .-' 

It  was  Jesse  that  took  up  the  strain,  at  least, 
and  sang — 

"  Let  us  heartily  rejoice  in  the  strength  of  our 
salvation  !  " 

Mistress  Judith  stopped  singing  too.  And  Mr. 
Cocks  from  behind  the  barrel-organ  looked  up,  miss- 
ing her  voice,  and  wondered. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 
ST.   valentine's   day. 

MISTRESS  JUDITH  lay  silent  one  cold 
February  morning  and  watched  the  soft 
feathery  snow-flakes  drifting  across  her  lattice- 
window. 

It  was  nine  o'clock — time  to  be  up  and  doing : 
but  Mistress  Judith  was  never  an  early  riser  in 
winter.  The  pillow  was  very  soft  and  warm,  Bully 
lay  stretched  across  her  feet,  and  it  was  cold  work 
getting  up  only  to  see  snow-flakes  and  bare  branches 
instead  of  linnets  and  roses. 

Winter  always  seemed  to  her  a  mistake  in  nature, 
a  something  to  be  tolerated  but  never  to  be  approved. 
It  was  in  vain  that  the  Parson  reasoned  with  her 
that  the  earth  wanted  rest,  and  pointed  to  her  own 
love  of  late  lying  in  bed  as  an  illustration.  She 
would  say  the  comparison  was  not  good,  and  shake 
her  head,   and  say  she  did    not  like  the  winter. 

No  winter  had  ever  as  yet  seemed  longer  or 
colder    to    her    than    this    one.       She    had    lost    her 


220  ST.    valentine's    DAY, 

old  glad  spirits,  and  the  fair  oval  of  her  face  had 
lost  something  of  its  symmetry.  The  grey  eyes 
had  a  wistful  troubled  look  in  them  at  times ; 
and  she  did  not  go  quite  so  often  to  Master 
Hurst. 

Mistress  Judith  was  crossing  the  threshold,  look- 
ing into  life.  Peering  out  now  to  see  the  better, 
averting  her  face  now  in  fear  and  trouble,  the  grim 
figure  of  Disenchantment  loomed  out  before  her. 

Not  that  she  had  been  disappointed  wholly  by 
Jesse,  or  Amos,  or  any  other. 

But  Amos  Jiad  failed  in  his  friendship.  Had  he 
not  come  again  at  Christmas  to  Trotter's  End } 
Had  she  not  seen  him  that  Sunday  in  the  pew 
across  the  aisle,  and  had  he  not  come  and  stayed 
two  days  and  left  again,  and  never  been  to  see 
her } — never,  that  is,  with  any  wish  to  see  her. 
Had  he  not  rather  chosen  a  time  when  she  was 
out  to  come  to  the  Rectory.  "  And  he  did  know 
I  was  out,"  said  Mistress  Judith  to  herself — "for 
didn't  Jesse  see  me  ten  minutes  before  on  my 
way  to  Paxton  with  father .'' — and  of  course  Jesse 
told  Amos  that,  Avhen  he  joined  him  down  the 
road.     Jesse  never  forgets  like  father." 

She  held  to  Jesse  firmly,  and  said  to  herself  that 
he  would    never  have  deceived  her  so.     She  said  to 


ST.    valentine's    day.  221 


herself  again  and  yet  again  how  blessed  she  was  in 
being  loved  by  such  as  he.  And  she  said  to  herself 
— it  was  all  to  herself  now,  there  was  too  much 
"saying  to  herself" — that  it  was  not  Jesse's  love  that^ 
troubled  her,  oh,  no  !  but  the  secret,  the  Christmas 
secret  that  had  lengthened  itself  out  into  February 
days,  and  was  a  secret  still. 

Jesse  left  Trotters  End  the  day  after  Christmas. 
On  Christmas  Day  itself  he  said  a  hurried  farewell 
to  Mistress  Judith  at  the  garden  gate.  Mistress 
BuUen  stood  talking  to  the  Parson  a  few  yards  off. 
Amos  had  crossed  the  road,  and  was  speaking  to 
Mistress  Hurst,  who  was  pinning  up  her  bonnet- 
strings,  and  had  just  been  telling  her  husband  about 
the  "  consekences  of  sin." 

"Not  again,  Jesse.''"  said  Judith,  looking  up  pale 
and  anxious  into  her  lover's  face — "  not  see  you 
again  before  you  go  ? " 

"  I  shall  have  business  with  Amos  you  see  to- 
morrow, dear  heart,"  he  answered.  "  He  's  ofitered  to  ; 
undertake  some  work  for  me,  and  I  must  talk  it 
over.  If  I  come  here  again  your  father  will  want 
me  to  talk  over  the  examination.  And  I  'm  tired 
of  that  Judith,  my  darling,  I  want  to  think  of  you 
instead." 

"But,  Jesse,"  said  Judith  quickly — "about  telling 


222  ST.    valentine's    DAV. 

father  ?  you  have  not  told  him  yet,  Jesse,  and  it 
makes  me  so  uneasy  till  he  knows.  Oh,  Jesse  !  you 
can  come  in  for  half  a  minute  can't  you,  Jesse  ?  " 
And  in  her  eagerness  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Judith!  look  out!"  he  said,  in  a  sharp  whisper* 
And  for  the  first  time  Judith  saw  Jesse  frown. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  quickly,  as  if  she  had 
been  caught  in  some  unmaidenly  act.  But  into 
her  grey  eyes  there  came  a  look  of  something  like 
proud  displeasure,  and  Jesse  saw  it. 

"Dear  love,"  said  he,  putting  himself  between 
her  and  the  Parson,  and  taking  the  hand  he  had 
almost  pushed  away,  tenderly  in  his  own — "  I  am 
only  sharp,  because  my  heart  is  heavy  at  going 
away  and  leaving  you.  You  won't  be  angry  with 
me,  Judith  .-'  You  won't  think  I  spoke  untrue  when 
I  said  T  loved  you  .•*  " 

"  I  never  thought  that,"  said  she  quietly,  look- 
ing down.  "  But,  if  we  are  to  be  married  by  and 
by,  it  seems  hard  I  cannot  lay  my  hand  on  yours, 
Jesse,  and " 

"  Oh,  darling,  my  darling — you  misunderstand 
me !  "  he  said  hotly,  pressing  the  hand  he  held 
between  his  own.  "  It 's  only  for  what  folks  will 
say — only  for  that — and " 

Judith's  upturned  eyes  met  his  and  stopped  him. 


ST.  valentine's  day.  223 

"  If  you  are  ashamed,  Jesse,  I  am  not,"  she 
said  gravely.  "  And  if  Paxton  Dick  and  all  the 
world  were  here  I  would  tell  them  plain,  '  I  am 
going  to  be  Jesse  Bullen's  wife.'  And  why  can't 
we  tell  fathc7-,  Jesse  ? " 

Just  then  Amos  turned  from  Master  Hurst's 
door  and  came  across  the  road.  Jesse  was  too 
quick  for  him,  and  before  his  eyes  had  sought  out 
Mistress  Judith,  she  was  standing  some  way  from 
his  elder  brother,  and  no  pang  of  jealousy  shot 
into  Amos's  heart.  Dumb  he  Avas,  very  dumb. 
After  he  had  greeted  her  and  patted  Bully  there 
seemed  nothing  left  to  say.  And  just  before  they 
left  the  Rectory,  when  he  would  fain  have  asked 
her  if  she  would  be  at  home  to-morrow,  for  he 
had  but  one  day  at  Trotter's  End,  he  looked 
round  and  saw  Jesse  close  beside  him  :  and  then 
the  words  refused  to  come.  Not  before  mortal 
ear  would  he  say  anything  of  any  meaning  to 
Mistress  Judith.  Amos  was  far  too  proud  and  sh}, 
for  that. 

Next  day  Mistress  Judith  received  a  note.  It 
ran  as  follows  : — 

"  I  will  write  to  you,  for  I  cannot  come  to-day. 
I  would  have  asked  you  to  meet  me,  but  I 
knew    you    would    not    do    it     unknown     to     your 


224  ST.    valentine's    DAY. 

father.  When  you  get  this  I  shall  have  gone. 
God's  blessing  be  with  you  and  preserve  you  for 
your  devoted  J.   B. 

"  P.S. — Say  nothing  till  you  hear." 

To  Judith's  surprise  the  bearer  of  this  letter  was 
Paxton  Dick.  He  brought  it  in  his  basket  of  eggs 
to  the  back  door,  and  asked  to  see  the  young 
lady.  And  Ruth  laughed  while  Judith  coloured. 
Should  she  take  the  letter  ?  Could  she  show  it 
to  her  father  ?  Anything  was  better  than  that  it 
should  remain  Vv'ith  Paxton  Dick. 

When  she  read  it  she  knew  she  could  not  show 
it  to  her  father.  Her  heart  was  sick  and  heavy 
as  she  turned  the  key  of  her  mother's  great  desk 
and  laid  the  crumpled  note  among  the  mint  and 
lavender  with  a  sovereign  that  was  all  her  own. 
For  the  first  time  she  looked  at  that  desk  with  a 
guilty  feeling.  When  she  went  to  her  room  at 
night,  the  feeling  of  guilt  rose  and  swelled  :  she 
could  not  sleep  with  that  desk  staring  at  her.  So 
she  carried  it  into  the  next  room,  a  bare  room, 
and  then  came  back,  praying  to  God  that  Jesse 
might  soon  write  his  second  letter,  and  tell  the 
secret  that  was  losing  all  its  sweetness  by  being 
kept. 

"  It 's  not  like  the  mint    and    lavender,"  she  said 


ST.  valentine's  day.  225 

sadly,  shaking  her  head  before  the  glass  as  she 
combed  her  hair — "  it's  not  hke  the  mint  and 
lavender — they  get  the  sweeter  for  being  locked 
away.  Oh,  Jesse,  Jesse !  when  will  you  be  able  to 
tell  father.?" 

And  on  this  cold  February  morning  it  was  the 
same  old  story:  '•When  will  he  tell  father — when.?" 

And  still  Jesse's  answer  came  back  across  her 
mind  :  "  Don't  ask  me  till  aftef  the  examination  is 
over,  dear  love  of  mine.  I  dare  not  tell  your  father 
till  that  is  over.  If  he  were  angry  it  would  unman 
me  :  I  could  not  pass — we  should  both  be  undone. 
Wait  till  the  middle  of  February — it 's  but  a  short 
time  now.  And  then  I  '11  come  and  tell  him.  You 
think  a  secret's  wrong,  my  darling;  but  it  does 
not  grow  more  wrong  by  being  kept  a  day  or  an 
hour  or  a  week  longer.  It  will  be  all  right  when 
we've  once  told  him;  and  you  may  trust  me  I  am 
doing  what  I  judge  is  best  for  you,  for  him,  and 
for  me. 

"  Whatever  you  do,"  the  letter  ended,  "  don't  let 
any  one  know  by  any  word  or  sign.  Especially 
be  careful  about  my  mother  and  all  at  Trotter's 
End.  We  must  tell  our  parents  first,  it  is  but  our 
duty.  And  if  Amos  comes,  just  be  careful,  very 
careful.     Don't  throw  yourself  in  his  way  :  never  be 

P 


226  ST.    valentine's    DAY. 

alone  with  him.  If  he  asked  you  questions  it  might 
be  very  awkward.  You  would  not  like  to  tell  a  lie, 
and  yet  you  could  not  tell  the  truth.  It  is  only  for  a 
little  while,  my  darling — till  then  may  God  bless  you." 

This  second  letter  came  before  the  New  Year. 
Between  that  time  and  the  snowy  morning  when 
Mistress  Judith  lay  awake  and  thought  of  all  that 
had  passed  she  had  had  many  struggles  and  much 
perplexity, 

Jesse  was  right,  true,  good,  honourable,  and  she 
loved  him.  Secrets  from  her  father  did  not  seem 
right :  yet  Jesse  told  her  to  keep  a  secret.  Judith 
could  not  understand. 

"  What  is  truth  .-' "  said  Pilate  long  ago.  Mistress 
Judith,  with  her  innocent  wistful  eyes,  looked  out 
now  and  again  into  the  great  shadowy  unknown 
world  of  realities  and  unrealities  and  asked  it  too. 

And  there  was  no  one  to  answer,  no  one  to 
make  reply.  Only  the  snow  drifted  silently,  large 
and  fleecy,  across  the  lattice,  and  the  song  of  shiver- 
ing children  at  the  garden  gate  told  her  it  was 
Valentine's  Day. 

*'  Good  morning,  Valentine  ! 

Curl  your  locks  as  I  do  mine — 
Two  before,  and  two  behind, — 
Good  morning,  \^alcntine  !" 


ST.    VALENTINE   S    DAY.  22/ 

"  Will  there  be  any  valentine  for  me  ? "  said 
Mistress  Judith — "will  the  paper  come  and  tell  us 
Jesse  has  passed,  and  will  Jesse  come  and  tell 
father  ? " 

And  still  only  the  snow-flakes  made  reply. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

WAITING   FOR   TIDINGS. 

THAIT  it  was  to  be  "in  the  middle  of 
February  "  was  all  that  Judith  knew  about 
the  examination.  Ask  her  father  she  could  not. 
Untutored  in  deceit  or  dissimulation  in  its  least 
degree,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  talk  of  Jesse, 
over  whose  name  the  shadow  of  the  secret  hung. 

"How  can  I.?"  said  Judith,  "how  can  I?  he 
was  my  friend  only,  and  now  he  is  my  dear  love 
^how  can  I  talk  of  him  to  father  .-'  " 

Valentine's  day  brought  no  news  with  it.  No 
wonder,  for  Jesse's  trial  only  began  two  days  later, 
and  there  was  an  interval  that  seemed  an  age  to 
three  people  in  quiet  Haslington  village,  before  they 
could  expect  the  news  of  woe  or  weal  to  come. 

For  Judith  soon  learnt  from  her  father,  to  whom 
she  listened  with  face  averted,  the  probable  time 
they  must  sit  like  patiences  upon  monuments.  She 
often  indeed  carried  out  the  old  saying  literally  : 
lor   despite   the    cold  she  was  often    driven    by   her 


WAITING    FOR    TIDINGS.  229 

trouble  out  of  doors  ;  and  rather  than  sit  in  Master 
Hurst's  ingle  as  of  old,  she  would  wander  about 
listlessly  in  the  churchyard,  out  of  sight  of  the 
study  windows,  and  when  she  was  weary  of  stand- 
ing she  would  rest  on  the  stone  over  her  mother's 
grave. 

"  If  you  were  here,  mother,"  said  Mistress  Judith 
in  those  days,  leaning  over  the  deaf  grave  with  a 
yearning  tenderness,  "  there  would  be  no  secret  lying 
at  my  heart.  T  should  be  a  better  girl,  mother,  and 
I  'd  have  said  '  No  '  to  Jesse  when  he  bade  me  never 
tell  till  he  came  home.  But  it  can't  be  v/rong, 
mother,  can  it,  since  Jesse  says  so  ?  Oh,  I  don't 
know  now  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong  !  " 

There  seemed  no  refuge  now,  not  even  Master 
Hurst's.  For  next  to  that  of  her  father,  Mistress 
Judithfelt  the  old  man's  presence  most  discomfiting. 
The  secret  ought  first  to  be  told  to  her  father, 
and  then  to  Master  Hurst.  She  had  never  hidden 
things  from  him  before  :  he  had  known  all  her 
troubles  since  she  was  a  child.  And  now  some- 
thing hindered  her — a  voice  saying  constantly  — 
"  Don't  go  to  Master  Hurst's  just  yet — not  yet — 
not   for  a  little." 

And  once  when  she  had  gone,  thinking  the  old 
man    would    be    grieved   at    her  long  absence,    after 


230  WAITING    FOR    TIDINGS. 

a  few  feeble  tender  reproaches  he  had  done  his 
best,  unwittingly,  to  drive  his  visitor  away.  For 
he  spoke  of  the  sons  of  Mistress  Bullen,  and  of 
what  folk  said  ;  and  he  gave  the  palm  to  Amos — - 
Amos  of  the  stalwart  frame,  the  russet  hair,  the 
great  frank  eyes  ;  "  him  as  was  good  and  stout,  him 
as  was  loiked  of  all  the  people — him  as  was  niver 
heady  nor  high-minded  loike,  didn't  niver  give  his- 
self  no  airs."  At  which  Mistress  Judith  rose  up, 
saying  she  must  needs  be  going  home. 

But  the  long  interval  passed  away,  and  the  day 
came  when  the  news  might  really  be  looked  for. 
The  Parson  had  a  messenger  in  Cambridge  ready 
to  bring  out  the  morning's  paper,  the  evening's 
paper,  any  paper  that  would  bring  the  list  of 
names  to  Haslington  Rectory  in  an  hour  after  its 
delivery  in  the  town.  He  had  had  a  messenger 
there  for  two  days,  four  posts,  by  the  way — but 
that  was  not  known  to  any  one  but  the  messenger 
and  the  Parson. 

How  Mistress  Bullen  and  he  should  know 
simultaneously  was  the  question.  Serious  thoughts 
had  the  Parson  of  hanging^  about  the  cross-roads, 
and  being  the  bearer  of  the  tidings  the  rest  of 
the  way  to  Trotter's  End.  But  Mistress  Bullen 
settled  it  by  saying  she  would  come  to  the  Rectory, 


WAITING    FOR    TIDINGS.  23I 

if  the  Parson  permitted  it — it  was  some  hundred 
yards  nearer  Cambridge  than  her  own  house. 

And  so  before  breakfast  she  was  there,  white 
and  cahii  and  cheerful. 

Ten  o'clock  brought  the  postman  :  and  then 
they  knew  there  was  no  news  for  them  that 
morning.  If  there  had  been  news,  the  messenger 
was  to  bring  it,  much  quicker  than  the  postman. 
Mistress  BuUen  said  she  would  go  away,  and  come 
back  after  dinner.  It  would  help  to  pass  the 
time,  she  said  ;  and  Judith  never  pressed  her  to 
remain. 

For  the  next  hour  or  two  they  felt  better :  a 
reprieve  was  something,  though  good  news  would 
have  been  so  much  better. 

But  one  o'clock  drew  on.  And  at  three  the 
messenger  might  be  looked  for. 

Mistress  Judith  began  to  be  sick  with  anxiety. 
And  upstairs  in  her  own  room,  sometimes  on  her 
knees  by  the  window,  sometimes  with  her  Bible 
open  on  the  sill — but  always  by  the  window — she 
spent  the  long  hours  till  two  struck  from  the 
church  steeple,  and  Ruth  downstairs  clattered  the 
cracked  bell. 

If  it  was  an  anxious  time  for  the  Parson  and 
Mistress  Bullen,  what  was  it    to  Judith  ?     To  them 


232  WAITING    FOR    TIDINGS. 

it  would  be  disappointment,  very  bitter  if  the 
list  came  and  no  name  of  Jesse  Bullen  in  it.  But 
for  Judith — what  might  it  not  mean  ?  What 
would  Jesse  do  in  tliat  case  about  the  secret? 
Would  he  tell,  tell  as  a  penitent,  and  ask  for- 
giveness of  her  father  ?  Ah  !  if  he  would.  But 
of  this  Jesse  had  said  never  a  word  to  Judith. 
And,  in  spite  of  herself,  she  had  come  to  know 
Jesse  was  not  so  wholly  brave  as  she  could  wish  : 
not   so  brave  as   she  would  be,  who   feared   nothing 

but  doing  wrong. 

fc>  fc>  ^ 

Before  half-past  two,  calm  Mistress  Bullen  was 
at  the  Rectory  again.  Once  more  the  Parson 
dragged  out  the  big  arm-chair  for  her.  Once 
more  Judith,  restless  and  uneasy,  began  flitting 
nervously  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro.  The  Parson, 
absent  as  he  was,  marked  this  well,  and  smiled  a 
little  just  about  his  lips.  He  was  uneasy  too  ;  the 
"Republic"  had  no  charms  for  him  to-day.  He 
cut  a  new  book,  and  when  that  was  done, — why  it 
'  was  done  :  and  there  was  nothing  left  to  do,  but 
to  sit  opposite  to  Mistress  Bullen  and  tell  himself 
he  had  no  doubts  about  Jesse. 

"  I  counted  on  the  lad  being  with  us  to  hear  the 
nev/s,"  said  he  absently.  "  But  I  suppose  he  had 
some    good    reason    for   staying    in    London    for    a 


WAITING    FOR    TIDINGS.  233 

bit.  It  does  a  man  like  him  good  to  see  the 
world." 

Mistress  Bullen,  who  had  no  opinion  of  the  world, 
was  silent  on  that  point.  But  presently  she  said 
quietly  in  her  silvery  voice — 

"  I  think  he  had  no  mind  to  come  till  he  heard 
the  news — Jesse  is  not  so  brave  as  Amos  in  ways 
like  these." 

But  luckily  the  Parson  did  not  hear.  He 
was  dreaming.  He  disliked  allusions  to  Amos 
when  Jesse  was  the  one  object  of  interest  to 
him. 

The  smile  played  round  his  lips  again,  and  he 
drew  down  his  bushy  brows  to  counteract  it.  He 
thought  he  knew  why  Jesse  did  not  come  till  he 
was  sure, — that  wise,  sly  Parson  !  He  did  not 
mean  to  come  till  he  knew  whether  he  could  dare 
to  ask  tor  Mistress  Judith.  "  Good  lad,  good 
lad  !  "  said  the  Parson :  and  "  good  lad "  meant  a 
world  from  him. 

"  Did  you  take  any  dinner,  Mistress  Bullen  ? " 
asked  Judith,  stopping  in  one  of  her  flittings. 

"  Not  much,  dear  heart,  not  much — but  I  shall 
eat  when  the  news  has  come  and  I  'm  at  rest." 
She  was  too  delicate  to  say  "  when  ive  are  at 
rest."      But    she    took    Judith's    hand    into  her  own, 


234  WAITING    FOR    TIDINGS. 

and    caressed    it,    while    her    eyes    looked    troubled, 
almost  sorrowful. 

"Tea,"  said  the  Parson — "she'll  have  a  cup  of 
tea — eh  ?     You  '11  have  a  nice  cup  of  tea  ? " 

And  he  rose  and  rang  the  bell. 

"  Well,  I  should  like  it,"  said  Mistress  Bullen, 
who  had  been  fasting  all  day,  like  a  foolish 
woman,  and  whose  head  began  to  feel  light  and 
dizzy. 

Mistress  Judith,  waiting  to  see  the  tea  safely 
ordered,  took  her  last  flitting,  and  settled  herself 
on  the  window-seat  upstairs.  There  she  would  stay 
till  horses'  hoofs  rang  up  the  road.  And  over  and 
over  she  mistook  the  beating  of  her  own  loud 
heart  foi  the  hoofs  of  that  horse  that  was  to 
bring  news,  great  news  to  Haslington. 

"  I  think  I  hear  something,"  said  Mistress  Bullen 
for  the  fifth  time.  But  it  was  only  Ruth  bring- 
ing in  the  cup  of  tea.  Ruth's  footsteps  were  not 
altogether  unlike  the  tramp  of  horses'  hoofs.  She 
set  the  tray  upon  the  table. 

But  it  was  not  the  echo  of  the  sounds  she  had 
awoke  that  made  the  Parson  leap  up  at  last  and 
ro  to  the  window. 

Clatter,  clatter,  a  scramble  upon  the  gravel  where 
it    had    been    pulled    up    suddenly — there   stood    a 


WAITING    FOR    TIDINGS.  235 

horse  with  smoking  flanks  at  the  Rectory  gate. 
And  there  stood  a  man  with  a  newspaper  in  his 
hand,  at  the  door,  under  the  porch. 

Jesse  Bullen  was  a  lucky  man  surely.  Upstairs 
in  tlie  window,  downstairs  by  the  fire,  sat  two 
M'omen  praying  for  him  ;  two  women,  pure  and 
true,  and  withal  who  loved  him,  hanging  upon  the 
news  of  his  success  or  ill  success  as  if  it  were  a 
matter  of  life  and  death.  It  was  very  nearly  that 
to  Judith  in  her  window  upstairs,  who  had  oiily 
smiled  through  life  before,  and  now  knew  that 
she  was  living  because  she  suffered. 

Back  came  the  Parson,  unfolding  the  paper 
slowly.  Down  came  Mistress  Judith  and  stood  with 
lips  open  in  the  doorway.  Mistress  Bullen,  grown 
paler,  sat  up  in  the  arm-chair  and  leaned  forward. 

"  All  right !  "  said  the  Parson,  "  he  's  through  ! 
Fourth  on  the  list,  Mistress  Bullen.  May  God 
bless  him  !  " 

And  there  was  the  name  sure  enough,  not  to 
be  mistaken.  Jesse  Bullen,  fourth  on  the  list, 
within  a  thousand  marks  of  the  man  who  had 
passed  first. 

"  I  wonder  he  is  not  here  already,"  said  the 
Parson,  as  soon  as  they  could  speak.  "  He  would 
hear  it  early  in  London." 


236  WAITING    FOR    TIDINGS. 

"  He  '11  be  here  to-day,"  said  Mistress  Bullen, 
calm  as  ever,  but  drying  up  a  stray  tear  here  and 
there.  And  Judith  said  to  herself  that  she  hoped 
so,  with  all  her  heart.  But  she  doubted — just 
a  little.  Why .'' — she  did  not  know  why.  But 
she  could  not  be  sure  he  would  come  to-day. 

After  this  Parson  Ingrey,  with  legs  stretched 
out  to  the  fire,  and  the  smile  come  back  about 
his  lips,  drank  off  the  cup  of  tea,  enjoyed  it,  and 
was  happy.  In  all  his  life  he  had  never  tasted  a 
better  cup. 

Poor  Mistress  Bullen  looked  on,  thirsty  and  tired, 
and  thought  she  could  have  enjoyed  it  too. 

But  what  did  it  matter .''  And  who  could  be 
expected  to  have  good  manners  or  good  memories 
to-day  ?     Least  of  ail  the  Parson. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

GENTLEMAN   BULLEN   COMES   HOME. 

HAWKER'S  cart  was  drawn    up  at    Master 
Hurst's    door    two    days    after    the    "news" 
had  come  to  Hashngton. 

"  Buttons,  Mistress  ?  'ymn-books,  soap,  tops,  ile, 
string,  nails — what  can  I  give  you  ?  best  kahty, 
and  as  much  of  'em  as  you  loikcs — shan't  not 
be  round  again  not  for  three  weeks — going  into 
Bedfordshire  oi  be " 


Young  Mistress  Gadd,  who  hved  behind  one  of  the 
houses,  and  was  afraid  of  being  overlooked  by  the 
hawker,  had  joined  Mistress  Hurst,  carrying  her  baby, 
who  had  got  into  short  frocks,  and  was  kicking. 

Mistress  Hurst  bought  a  hymn-book  and  buttons, 
a  sauce-pan  and  a  pen'orth  of  salt.  Young  Mistress 
Gadd  bought  a  shiny  gingerbread  man,  which  was 
clawed  immediately  by  her  lusty  offspring,  who 
would  bite  anything,  from  his  mother's  finger  to 
the  coral  made  by  his  father  out  of  a  lobster's 
claw,  which  hung  round  his  neck. 


238  GENTLEMAN    BULLEN 

After  they  had  closed  their  bargains  the  hawker 
was  quite  glad  to  furnish  himself  in  exchange 
with  a  little  gossip  to  carry  on  to  the  next  village. 

"  The  young  maister  he  be  coomin'  home  'bout 
this  time,  I  take  it  ? "  he  inquired. 

"  The  Parson  have  gone  to  meet  him — see'd  'im 
go  by  an  hour  ago,  I  did." 

"In  's  own  four-wheeler?"  asked  Mrs.  Gadd, 
holding  one  end  of  the  gingerbread  man,  while  tlie 
baby  with  both  hands  clutched  the  other,  and 
sucked. 

"Ay,  ay  —  it's  not  loike  he'd  take  a  strange 
kerridge  —  and  there  bean't  none  nearer  than 
Paxton." 

"  It 's  set  up  as  Gen'leman  Bullen  '11  be,  what 
with  'e  Parson  giving  him  his  edication  —  larnin' 
him  be  a  gen'leman,  and  sich." 

"If  folks  speaks  true,"  said  Mistress  Pratt,  clean- 
ing a  spoon  with  her  apron,  "  he  '11  need  his  larnin' 
and  his  manners — not  that  he  hadn't  got  'em  more 
than  half-way  afore.  His  father,  he  were  a  gentle- 
man, not  stuck  up  nor  hcad)'-loike." 

"Will  he  bide  here.?"  asked  Mistress  Gadd— 
"  or  will  he  go  right  away  with  the  army,  do  ye 
think  ? " 

"  Parson  '11    git    th'   army  to    come  •  here,  loikely," 


COMES    HOME.     "  239 

said  Mistress  Pratt,  who  was  an  authority.  "  He 
won't  be  for  Master  Jesse  to  go  away,  not  he. 
And  he  can't  not  give  up  's  perfession  and  that, 
ye  see." 

"  Souldiers  woan't  do  the  place  no  good  then," 
said  Mistress  Gadd. 

At  which  the  hawker  laughed  good-naturedly,  told 
them  they  need  not  fear  the  soldiers,  and  drove 
off. 

That  day  was  a  marked  day  in  Haslington.  Folk 
remembered  it  well  :  because  there  came  the  Parson 
driving  through  the  village,  bringing  home  Jesse 
in  his  own  four-wheeler.  Great  was  the  disap- 
pointment when  it  was  discovered  by  many  heads 
poked  out  of  many  windows  that  no  coloured 
uniform  flashed  out  of  the  carriage.  But  then 
Gentleman  Bullen  wore  a  greatcoat  :  and  there 
was  no  saying  but  the  uniform  might  be  under 
that. 

Ah,  it  was  a  day  of  mark  in  Haslington,  and 
no  wonder.  But  Mistress  Gadd's  baby  kicked  and 
cared  nothing  for  Gentleman  Bullen :  had  he  not 
got  something  much  better .''  —  a  real  gingerbread 
man.     So  it  was  a  day  of  mark  for  him  too. 

Parson  Ingrey  drew  up  the  horse  at  his  own  gate 
and  prepared  to  get  down. 


240  GETNTLEMAN    bullen 

"  I  suppose  I  can  see  her  alone  ? "  said  Jesse 
nervously. 

The  Parson  took  the  hint  at  once. 

"  Alone  !  why  yes,  lad,  and  God  speed  you. 
Here!  give  me  the  rug  again.  I'll  drive  up  and 
fetch  your  mother." 

"  And  you  won't  mention  anything  to  my  mother 
at  present,  please,  sir  ? "  said  Jesse. 

"  No,  no — get  off  with  you — and  God  speed 
you."     And  then  the  Parson  drove  off. 

Judith,  with  eyes  wide  open  and  pale  cheeks, 
had  been  watching  from  the  window-seat  up-stairs. 
She  had  been  very  glad  when  she  heard  that  her 
father  was  going  to  drive  to  meet  Jesse.  What 
a  chance  it  would  be  for  Jesse  to  tell !  But  she 
could  not  help  her  heart  failing  her  at  times. 
Jesse  had  put  off  and  put  off:  he  seemed  so  to 
fear  this  telling.  And  if  he  had  not  told  it,  why 
it  would  be  worse  than  ever  to  tell.  And  Judith 
had  made  up  her  mind  that  if  her  lover  should 
still  persist  in  delay,  she  would  be  firm,  take 
things  into  her  own  hands  and  tell  her  father. 
This  secrecy  was  more  than  she  could  bear :  she 
said  to  herself  she  would  not  sleep  again  with  the 
dull  weight  of  it  upon  her. 

But    when    she    saw  the   carriage   stop,   and    Jesse 


COMES    HOME.  241 

coming  alone  across  the  garden,  she  felt  sure  that 
he  had  told.  Why  else  should  he  come  alone,  and 
by  the  Parson's  leave,  in  face  of  all  the  village  ? 
But  still  Mistress  Judith's  heart  fluttered  while  it 
leapt.  Would  her  father  be  very  angry,  that  she 
had  so  long  hid  it  from  him  .''  She  looked  at  his 
face  as  he  drew  the  rug  over  his  knees,  and  there 
was  no  grave  look  there  (and  a  grave  look  was 
all  the  Parson's  frown).  Then  she  blessed  God 
that  all  was  well,  sped  down  the  stairs,  and  in  an- 
other instant  found  herself  folded  in  Jesse's  arms. 

"  My  darling,  my  darling !  "  said  Jesse. 

"Oh,  Jesse,  Jesse!"  said  Judith,  and  laid  her 
face  against  his  shoulder  and  cried.  He  had  told 
— he  was  her  darling.  Her  father  was  not  angry 
— there  was  nothing  now  to  fear.  "  Thank  God," 
said  she  to  herself — "  thank  God ! "  And  that 
sufficed  them  for  some  time  to  come. 

Ten  minutes  afterwards,  when  she  had  taken  off 
his  coat,  and  smoothed  back  his  hair,  she  sat  down 
on  the  sofa  beside  him. 

"  Look  at  me,  Jesse — you  've  hardly  looked  in 
my  face  yet.  Don't  put  your  eyes  down — I  want 
to  see  them — I  'd  almost  forgot  the  colour,  Jesse. 
Oh,  I  thought  you  'd  never  come.  We  thought 
you  'd    come    directly    after    the    examination — and 

Q 


242  GENTLEMAN    BULLEN 

then  we  thought  you'd  come  as  soon  as  ever  you 
heard  the  news.  But  I  suppose  you  hked  stop- 
ping in  London,  because  you  heard  it  a  few  hours 
sooner — didn't  you,  Jesse  ?  But  then  what  had 
you  got  to  do  these  two  days  since  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  which  question  to  answer  first, 
Judith,"  said  he,  "you  take  my  breath  away.  How 
pale  you  are  looking,  darling,  my  darling — what  has 
made  you  lose  your  colour — eh  .''" 

"  I  've  been  very  unhappy  and  very  happy,"  said 
Judith,  lifting  her  wistful  eyes  to  his,  as  she  fingered 
the  button  on  his  coat — "  since  you  went  away,  Jesse." 

Jesse  coloured,  and  began  hastily,  "  What  ?    Amos 

hasn't "  but  checked  himself,  and  Judith  went  on, 

not  noticing — 

"  I  never  had  any  secrets  before,  Jesse — never — 
and  it  fretted  me  so.  Then  I  wanted  to  write  to 
you,  and  I  couldn't  without  telling  father.  But  oh, 
it 's  all  right  now — all  right  !  "  And  she  pressed 
her  forehead  against  his  hand,  and  swayed  herself 
to  and  fro  in  a  blissful  silence  for  a  moment.  Then, 
suddenly,  "  He  wasn't  angry,  Jesse  ,-'  was  he  ? 
Father  wasn't  angry  I  hadn't  told  him  before?" 

"  I  think  I  hear  the  carriage,"  said  Jesse,  jumping 
up,  and  going  to  the  window.  "  No,  it 's  the  barrow 
in  the  yard." 


COMES    HOME.  243 

And  Judith  followed  him,  and  slipped  her  hand 
into  his  arm. 

"  He  wasn't  angry,  was  he,  Jesse  ?" 

"  Angry,  why  should  he  be  angry  .' " 

"He  could  not  be  angry  at  your  loving  me,"  said 
she  gently — "  I  know  that." 

"  Oh,  Jesse — how  happy  I  am  ! "  she  said  pre- 
sently ;  "  how  happy  you  've  made  me  ! — now  that 
you  've  told  father  there  seems  nothing  sad  in  the 
world.  I  thought  it  was  very  sad  sometimes  lately 
— while  you  were  away,  you  know,  Jesse.  Just 
fancy  his  not  being  angry  with  me  for  never  having 
told  him  all  this  time — and  he  tells  me  everything, 
you  know.  We  never  had  any  secrets  before, — father 
and  I.  -  Come  and  sit  down,  Jesse— I  want  just  to 
tell  you  something.  I  hope  you  won't  mind — but 
do  you  know  I  could  hardly  believe  it  would  be 
all  right,  and  that  you  'd  have  told  Father  before 
I  saw  you  ?  I  could  not  help  being  afraid  it  would 
still  have  to  be  done,  and  I  'm  such  a  coward,  Jesse. 
I  hate  cowards — I  'd  as  lief  be  a  murderer  as  a 
coward  !  That 's  why  I  'm  always  trying  to  be 
more  brave  and  not  to  feel  frightened  about  thinors: 
but  I  can't  always  help  it — and  you  '11  have  to 
teach  me.  We  '11  help  each  other,  won't  we, 
Jesse.''"      added    truthful    Mistress    Judith,    remem- 


244  GENTLEMAN    BULLEN    COMES    HOME. 

bering    her    lover    had    not    always    seemed    to    her 
quite  as  brave  as  she  should  like. 

"  There  they  are  ! "  she  cried  presently.  "  Does 
your  mother  know,  Jesse — eh  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Jesse,  poking  the  fire  with  his  back 
turned  to  the  door.  "  She  doesn't  know.  And  take 
it  quietly,  darling,  if  you  can — your  father " 

But  Judith  was  in  her  father's  arms  at  the  door, 
not  listening  even  to  Jesse. 

"So  it's  all  right,  Judith.?"  said  the  Parson, 
"You've  made  Jesse  happy  to-day — eh?" 

Judith,  bewildered,  made  no  answer.  But  a  few 
moments  later,  quieted  and  very  pale,  she  slunk  back 
into  the  drawing-room,  and  took  her  knitting. 

Wistfully  she  looked  at  Jesse,  full  of  talk,  with  his 
handsome  face  a  little  flushed,  and  his  eyes  sparkling, 
while  he  sat  beside  his  mother  and  held  her  hand. 

He  had  not  told  the  whole  truth  then  after  all. 
Not  the  whole  truth.  And  this  was  Mistress  Judith's 
lover. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

MID-IIEAVEN. 

ESSE  BULLEN  won  golden  opinions  in  Has- 
lingtou.  He  was  so  kind  to  his  mother,  so 
thoughtful  to  the  Parson,  and  no  one  could 
say  he  gave  himself  "  airs." 

It  was  soon  generally  known  that  Mistress  Judith 
and  he  were  betrothed ;  and  though  some  folks 
said  they  had  liefer  it  were  Master  Amos,  the 
general  opinion  was  that  they  were  a  well-matched 
pair. 

Mistress  Bullen  could  not  long  be  kept  in  ignor- 
ance. Any  one  with  half  her  discrimination  could 
not  have  failed  to  guess  it  from  the  moment  when 
Jesse  stopped  short  at  the  Rectory  instead  of  making 
first  for  Trotter's  End.  How  she  took  it  when  her 
son  confirmed  her  suspicions  was  known  to  none : 
for  Jesse  never  expatiated  on  the  subject.  Only  a 
light  was  very  late  in  Mistress  Bullen's  window  that 
night,  which  might  have  been  seen  all  up  the  Paxton 
road,  twinkling  merrily.     Lights  tell  no  secrets  :  they 


246  MID-HEAVEN. 

don't  burn  any  dimmer  for  trouble,  or  brighter  for 
joy.  And  all  that  Judith  knew  was  that  next  day 
she  was  clasped  in  Mistress  BuUen's  arms,  and  called 
her  "  daughter." 

"  I  'd  rather  it  were  not  spoken  of,'''  said  Jesse  that 
night  to  his  mother.  "  I  'd  rather  you  did  not  write 
about  it,  you  know,  mother,  and  set  folks  talking 
just  at  present.  Master  Ingrey  does  not  wish  the 
marriage  to  be  till  I  've  got  settled  somewhere  with 
my  regiment." 

Mistress  Bullen  sat  silent,  scraping  a  paper  match 
she  had  just  made.     Presently  she  said — 

"Jesse,  lad — I  suppose  there's  no  objection  to  tell- 
ing your  brother  Amos  .-*" 

"  Why,  yes — I  think  there  is,"  said  Jesse  decidedly. 
"At  present  I  should  prefer  that  no  one  should  know 
of  Judith's  and  my  engagement.  I  feel  sure  it  would 
be  the  Parson's  wish  as  well  as  mine.  At  all  events 
it  is  my  wish,"  added  he  yet  more  decidedly,  and  Jesse 
was  seldom  decided. 

After  which  Mistress  Bullen  sighed  softly,  kissed 
her  son,  and  went  away  into  her  own  room.  She  had 
meant  to  write  to  Amos  :  there  was  the  little  brown 
ink-bottle  and  the  open  blotting-book  all  ready  on 
the  table. 

And  yet,  woman  and  mother  as  she  was,  she  could 


MID-HEAVEN.  247 

not  help  a  feeling  of  relief  for  the  moment  when  she 
was  forbidden  to  write.  How  could  she  have  told 
Amos  .?  that  was  a  question  that  had  weighed  heavily 
upon  her  for  two  or  three  hours  past.  Nay,  it  had 
weighed  on  her  a  long  time  back,  ever  since  the  days 
when  Jesse  went  early  to  the  Rectory,  and  came  back 
late,  and  sat  very  silent  and  distracted  through  the 
winter  evenings.  Then  was  it  hard  not  to  remember 
how  Amos,  her  Benjamin,  had  gone  early  and  come 
late ;  and  how  into  his  honest  eyes  a  new  light  would 
rise  and  flood  now  and  again  as  he  sat  beside  her, 
over  the  settling  nre,  silent  too,  and  distracted  ?  Ah, 
he  had  been  first,  said  Mistress  Bullen  to  herself: 
and  she  tried  to  remember  the  day  when  Amos  had 
begun  to  care  for  Mistress  Judith,  and  could  not.  Slie 
never  could  remember  the  first  dawn  of  that  sun  that 
flooded  Amos's  eyes — only  she  knew  it  rose  and  rose  ; 
and  she  feared,  ah,  how  greatly  !  it  must  be  rising 
now:  soon  it  would  be  in  mid-heaven,  in  mid-heaven! 
And  then — ah,  it  was  all  over  for  her  Amos  now ! 
Jesse  had  come  in — Jesse  who  won  all  things  and  all 
hearts — and  had  snatched  the  prize  away.  And  she 
must  tell  Amos. 

That  was  what  had  troubled  Mistress  Bullen.  And 
when  she  felt  almost  glad  that  for  the  present  the 
task  was  taken  from  her,  she  called  herself  a  coward. 


248  MID-HEAVEN. 

He  must  be  told  some  time,  before  long  ;  it  was  only- 
putting  off  the  evil  day. 

"  Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind,"  says  the  old  saying. 
It  seemed  true  in  those  days  as  regarded  Amos.  At 
least  his  name  had  dropped  wonderfully  out  of  com- 
mon talk  at  the  Rectory  and  at  Trotter's  End.  And 
since  he  was  seen  no  longer,  the  village  folk  too 
ceased  to  speak  so  much  about  him.  Gentleman 
Bullen  on  the  spot,  a  hero,  and  Mistress  Judith's 
lover,  was  food  enough  for  talk.  Folks  just  knew 
Master  Amos  was  learning  new  ways  of  farming  and 
such  like,  and  looking  out  for  a  bit  of  farm  of  his 
own.  And  if  that  were  the  case,  of  course  their 
interest  in  him  must  wane  a  little.  "  New  ways  and 
such"  were  well  enough  likely  for  foreign  parts,  and 
may  be  Master  Amos  would  find  some  strange  place 
to  suit  himself  But  as  for  Haslington  folks  they 
wanted  no  changes.     "  'Chines  and  new  fangles  hadn't 

done  no  good  as  they  knew  of" 

It  was  easy  to  see  why,  in  his  own  family  and  at 
the  Rectory,  Amos's  name  slipped  out  of  common  con- 
versation. The  Parson  had  never  cared  for  him, 
never  noticed  him.  Judith  held  her  peace,  because 
she  had  no  happy  thoughts  now  with  regard  to  Amos. 
She  felt  it  very  mucli  that  he  had  never  sent  word 
or  message  to  her,  since  the  news  must  have  reached 


MID-HEAVEN.  249 

him  of  her  engagement  to  Jesse.  A  thrill  of  pain 
passed  through  her  often  when  she  thought  of  old 
days,  old  happinesses  that  she  and  Amos  had  had 
together ;  before  he  got  estranged  and  cold,  before 
the  idea  of  foreign  parts  had  disturbed  his  quiet  mind 
and  changed  him  so  sadly.  Jesse  studiously  avoided 
any  reference  to  his  brother ;  gladly  would  he  at 
times  have  effaced  all  recollection  of  his  existence 
from  his  mind.  As  for  Mistress  Bullen,  her  heart 
was  far  too  sore  for  her  Benjamin  to  allow  of  her 
speaking  of  him  as  if  all  were  well. 

So  Amos's  name  grew  strange  and  rare,  and  of 
the  four  who  closed  their  lips  upon  it  Mistress  Judith 
was  the  one  most  keenly  conscious  of  the  fact.  To 
her  it  was  a  new  thing  to  put  an  old  friend  into 
banishment ;  and  spite  of  her  displeasure  at  his 
neglect,  she  could  not  shut  pain  out  altogether. 
Often  when  Jesse  had  left  her,  with  the  warmth  of 
his  kiss  still  on  her  cheek,  she  sighed,  thinking  of 
poor  Amos  whom  none  remembered.  And  then  she 
would  start  up,  knowing  she  should  be  gay — for  was 
not  she  betrothed  to  a  fine,  brave,  and  worthy 
lover .'' 

They  had  only  fallen  out  once,  she  and  Jesse,  and 
it  was  but  a  lover's  quarrel  that  led  back  to  the  renew- 
ing of  love.    At  least  ."^^o  thought  Judith,  telling  herself 


250  MID- HEAVEN. 

wliat  was  wrong  for  her  might  not  be  wrong  for 
Jesse  ;  and  that  in  this  she  must  be  guided  by  him, 
till  she  could  convince  him  that  she  was  right.  That 
she  should  tell  her  father  how  for  two  months  she 
had  been  Jesse's  betrothed  before  ever  they  asked 
his  leave  was  Mistress  Judith's  wish.  It  was  not 
Jesse's  wish.  He  was  a  good  sophist,  if  not  a  good 
reasoner  :  he  managed  to  puzzle  his  little  lady-love 
and  won  the  day. 

"You  can  tell  him,  Judith,  if  you  think  it  will 
raise  his  opinion  of  me,"  was  an  argument  that 
silenced  Judith.  She  felt  sure  that  neither  carelessly 
nor  lightly  would  hei  father  hear  anything  that  in  the 
very  least  degree  could  throw  the  shadow  of  a  shadow 
upon  his  opinion  of  his  "  lad."  Parson  Ingrey's  clear 
soul  was  in  his  e}^es  ;  and  Mistress  Judith  knew  that 
soul  well  by  the  image  of  it  he  had  transmitted  to 
her. 

In  Jesse's  presence  it  was  easy  enough  to  shake 
off  any  qualms  of  conscience.  Who  could  be  wrong 
with  a  clear  face  and  brow  like  Jesse's  ?  And  who 
can  be  wrong  in  the  eyes  of  a  pure  first-love }  So 
Mistress  Judith  put  away  that  little  difference  from 
her,  and  began  newly  :  and  she  found  that  Jesse  felt 
alike  with  her  in  many  many  things,  while  only  in 
one  had  they  disagreed. 


MID-HEAVEN.  2$  I 

New  Year  and  Plough  Monday  had  passed  drearily: 
Plough  Monday,  when  all  the  plough-boys  in  a  ring 
cracked  their  great  whips  round  the  Rectory  and  the 
Bullens'  farm,  and  shouted  rough  songs,  lost  in  the 
louder  voice  of  the  stinging  cracking.  Judith  and 
Ruth  had  flung  them  half-pence ;  little  boys,  with 
paper  flowers  and  ribbons  in  their  caps,  went  round 
the  village  with  a  cobbled  bag  between  them,  and 
up  the  street  in  triumph  swept  a  plough  drawn  by 
great  hairy-footed  horses,  and  decorated  gaily  with 
flags  and  flowers  and  wreaths.  But  Judith  was  alone 
then. 

Now  March  and  part  of  April  passed,  and  Judith 
had  her  lover.  There  was  only  a  rumour,  nothing 
more,  that  a  commission  might  be  forthcoming  in 
early  May. 

Days  came  now  that  were  very  sweet  for  lovers, 
when  Jesse  Bullen  would  come  early  to  the  Rectory, 
and  Mistress  Judith  and  he  would  go  a-primrosing 
in  Primrose-Spinney. 

With  spring  and  the  return  of  flowens,  and  Jesse's 
presence,  the  old  beauty  had  all  returned.  Cheeks  that 
had  grown  pale  and  thin  were  round  now,  and  flushed 
with  a  beautiful  delicate  colour,  as  of  an  apple- 
blossom  with  the  first  May-bloom  upon  it.  Beauty 
comes  early,  and  beauty  stays  late ;  but  the  beauty 


252  MID-HEAVEN. 

of  seventeen  summers  stands  alone.  Eyes  looking 
forward  into  love  and  womanhood,  feet  tarrying  still 
in  the  paths  of  childhood.  Just  such  was  Mistress 
Judith  that  bright  spring-time. 

One  day,  more  beautiful  than  all  the  others,  marked 
itself  especially  in  the  memories  of  the  young  lovers. 

Never  had  Judith  looked  fairer,  never  was  the  basket 
higher  filled  with  primroses,  never  did  the  sweet  faint 
fresh  smell  of  them  rise  into  their  faces  fraught  with 
more  associations  of  all  that  made  life  beautiful  and 
sweet, 

"  It  seems  somehow  as  if  we  were  at  the  gates  of 
Heaven,  Jesse,"  said  Judith  reverently. 

Jesse,  watching  an  approaching  figure  in  the  dis- 
tance, made  answer  doubtfully — 

"  I  hope  we  have  further  still  to  go,  darling,  before 
the  end  comes." 

"You  speak  as  if  we  should  be  turned  back  from 
the  gate,"  said  Judith;  "I  did  not  think  of  that, 
Jesse." 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

TRIMROSE-SPINNEY. 

''  I  ^HE  figure,  bent  under  the  weight  of  a  large 
X  basket,  that  came  towards  them  at  a  fast 
l.obb'e,  was  that  of  Paxton  Dick. 

Contemplating  the  road  or  his  own  dusty  boots  as 
usual,  the  only  thing  to  be  seen  of  him,  from  which 
Jesse  anxiously  tried  to  read,  was  the  crown  of  his 
grey  and  greasy  slouched  hat.  But  as  he  drew  near, 
cutting  across  the  grass  to  meet  them,  he  began  to 
look  up,  and  shoulder  the  basket  a  little  higher. 
This  shouldering  meant  a  good  deal  to  those  who 
knew  Paxton  Dick.  Something  accomplished,  or 
something  to  be  accomplished — that  was  the  signal 
for  both. 

"  That  horrid  man,"  said  Judith,  nerv^ously — "don't 
speak  to  him,  Jesse,  please!" 

But  Jesse,  with  a  long  stride,  had  gone  to  meet  the 
hawker,  who,  after  fumbling  in  his  pocket,  produced 
a  letter,  and  gave  it  to  him. 

Jesse  must  have  transferred  the  letter  very  quickly 


254  PRIMUOSE-SPINNEY. 

« 

to  his  own,  for  by  the  time  Judith  reached  him  it 
had  disappeared.  Paxton  Dick  was  speaking  in  a 
mumbling  low  voice ;  but,  to  the  girl's  surprise,  it 
was  Jesse  who  looked  round  with  a  vexed  expression 
when  he  saw  her,  and  it  was  he  wno  drew  Paxton 
Dick  aside  for  an  instant,  while  Judith  went  slowly 
on.  She  was  half-divided  whether  to  go  or  stay  : 
Jesse's  look  of  impatience  had  driven  her  away ; 
but  would  she  not  have  done  right  to  stay  beside 
him  .''      That  man  could  do  no  good  to  Jesse — none. 

It  was  not  three  minutes  before  Jesse  joined  her. 
To  take  up  the  conversation  just  where  they  had 
dropped  it  would  have  suited  him  best ;  but,  whether 
in  reality  or  only  to  his  fancy,  that  seemed  to  lead 
directly  or  indirectly  to  Paxton  Dick.  Jesse,  who 
was  not  too  imaginative,  looked  back  to  Judith's 
words  and  his  own  answer,  and  thought  there  was 
something  ominous  in  both. 

"  It  seems  somehow  as  if  we  were  at  the  gates  of 
Heaven,  Jesse,"  said  she.  "  I  hope  we  have  further 
still  to  go,  darling,  before  the  end  comes,"  said  he. 

That  was  what  Jesse  remembered,  and  tried  now  to 
put  aside  and  to  forget. 

P'ailing  to  find  anything  to  say,  hard  as  he  tried, 
Judith  made  use  of  the  opportunity. 

"  I  wonder  you  speak  to  that  bad  man,  Jesse,"  she 


PRIMROSE-SPINNEY.  255 

said — "  Father  thinks  very  ill  of  him,  and  so  do  other 
folk." 

"  And  pray  why  ? "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  Because  he's  neither  good  nor  true,"  said  Judith ; 
"  and  being  with  untrue  folk  can  never  do  us  anything 
but  harm.  Paxton  Dick  's  a  deceiver  like  Judas  ;  and 
I  think  we  honest  folk  should  keep  clear  of  him  as 
best  we  may." 

"  You  have  a  good  opinion  of  yourself,"  said  Jesse 
smiling,  but  not  easily  or  without  an  effort. 

"Good  opinion,  Jesse  V  she  answered,  startled,  and 
colouring,  as  she  looked  up  at  him.  "  Oh,  I  hope 
not  ;  I  didn't  mean  that,  Jesse — I  was  thinking  of 
you  and  father  when  I  said  it,  though  I  said  '  us.' 
You  know  I  can't  well  be  otherwise  than  honest, 
Jesse,  never  having  been  with  any  one  that  wasn't 
clear  as  day.  I  daresay  if  I  were  tempted — by  such 
folk  as  Paxton  Dick,  now — I  might  be  led  away  and 
become  untrue.  That's  why  I  don't  like  to  come 
near  him,  nor  for  you  to  come  near  him.  I  don't 
think  he  could  hurt  fou,  Jesse,"  she  added  quickly, 
as  if  she  had  been  disloyal  to  him,  and  must  make 
amends — "  except  in  so  far  as  he  meddled  with  your 
concerns.  I  'd  never  give  him  money  to  pay  a  bill  in 
Cambridge,  Jesse,  if  I  were  you,  or  anything  like 
that." 


2j6  PRIMROSE-SPINNEY. 

Jesse's  loud  merry  laugh  grated  on  Judith's  ear. 

"  Bills  ! — Cambridge  !  what  do  you  know  about 
Cambridge,  eh  .''  You  're  extremely  wise,  Judith,  of  a 
sudden." 

"  Don't  speak  so,"  she  answered,  pained.  "  I  did 
not  mean  to  teach  you,  Jesse,  who  know  so  much 
more  than  I  do.  I  need  not  be  afraid  )^ou  '11  get 
into  mischief  at  Haslington  when  you  've  been  all 
over  the  world,  where  there  are  many  more  bad  folks 
than  here  ;  and  where  you  never  got  into  any  harm, 
or  anything." 

"How  do  you  know  that.?"  asked  Jesse  in  a 
changed  voice,  speaking  low. 

"  By  m}'  own  heart,"  she  answered  firmly,  looking 
up  into  the  blue  sky  with  far-off  eyes.  "  I  'd  as  lief 
distrust  the  sun  in  hca\-cn,  Jesse,  as  you." 

Jesse  Bullen  stopped  short.  He  opened  his  lips  to 
speak.  Where  was  his  angel  then  .''  where  was  his 
good  angel,  that  there  was  no  time  for  him  to  speak, 
before  Judith  went  on,  still  looking  dreamily  before 
her  ? 

"  And  if  I  thought  you  'd  done  anything  wrong  or 
mean,  Jesse,  why  it  would  break  my  heart,  that's  all." 

And  then  the  lips  of  Jesse  Bullen  closed.  The 
good  angel  had  been  nowhere,  nowhere.  It  was 
some  moments  before  Judith  spoke  again. 


PRIMROSE-SPINNEY.  257 

"Do  you  think  folks  know  when  other  folk  pray 
for  them,  Jesse  ?  If  they  pray  very  hard,  entreating 
very  much  of  God — what  do  you  think,  Jesse? 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  obliged  to  answer  some- 
thing.    "  li you  pray,  God  must  hear." 

"Of  course  God  hears.  He 's  heard  me  always 
when  I  prayed  for  you." 

"  You  do  pray  for  me,  then  ? "  he  said  earnestly, 
looking  at  her  innocent  face.  "  You  do  pray, 
Judith .? " 

"  Yes,  Jesse,  of  course  I  pray.  I  prayed  for  you 
when  you  were  in  Paris  sometimes  ;  because  it  was 
such  a  bad  place,  I  heard  them  say.  Theatres,  and 
bad  weights  and  measures,  and  such  like,  aren't  there* 
Jesse  .-*  And  actors  and  actresses  are  bad  folk,  aren't 
they  .'' — they  've  got  quarrels  and  jealousies  among 
themselves,  who  is  the  best  actor  and  that,  haven't 
they .''  And  I  daresay  other  bad  things  I  don't  know 
about." 

And  she  looked  up  at  Jesse,  who  had  tasted  of 
the  tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  and  had 
chosen  the  good,  with  an  almost  adoration  in  her  eyes. 

And  he  turned  his  face  away,   and    watched   the 

cows  browsing  in  the  meadow  beyond  the  path  which 

they  were  treading,  that  was  skirting  now  the  boundary 

of  the  wood. 

R 


258  PRIMROSE-SPINNEY. 

"  Shall  I  carry  the  basket  ? "  he  said  presently. 

"  Yes— only  very  gently.  Don't  spill  any.  Because 
I  've  got  a  great  china  bowl  to  fill.  May  I  always 
have  flowers  in  our  sitting-room,  Jesse, — always?" 

He  looked  at  her  an  instant  almost  sternly.  Then 
stopping,  and  laying  hold  of  her  arm,  he  said  passion- 
ately— 

"  O  Judith,  nothing  shall  come  between  us,  shall 
it .'' — nothing,  nothing  .? " 

"No,  Jesse,  nothing,  unless  God  comes  between. 
But  He  does  that  sometimes,  Jesse :  He  steps  in 
sometimes  between  lovers,  as  I  have  heard  folk  say." 
And  into  her  large  calm  eyes  the  tears  had  welied 
suddenly. 

"  But  you,  you "  he  said,  throwing  up  his  head 

in  an  agony,  and  then  folding  his  arms  tightly  about 
her,  while  the  top  primroses  tilted  from  the  basket 
about  their  feet,  and  lay  scattered  all  before  them. 
"  You  will  never  forsake  me,  whatever  happens, 
Judith,  my  love,  my  darling — say  that  you  never 
will  say  '  No,  Jesse,  never  ! ' " 

"Let  me  loose  first,  dear  heart,"  she  answered. 
"  Let  me  say  it  freely,  and  looking  up  to  God.  Here 
give  me  your  hand,  Jesse,  my  true  love.  Now  I  can 
say  it — Whatever  happens,  I  will  never  forsake  you, 
Jesse — neither  in  this  world  nor  the  world  to  come." 


PRIMROSE-SPINNEY.  259 

"  The  world  to  come  ! "  he  said  quickly.  "  You 
can't  answer  for  that,  my  darling  ;  if  you  '11  promise 
it  for  this  world  it  is  enough  for  me." 

"  But  not  for  n^e,"  she  answered  solemnly.  "  We 
must  be  together  in  Heaven  if  we  are  to  be  happy 
together  on  earth." 

"  And  suppose  Heaven  has  no  place  for  me  }  You  'II 
have  to  go  in  all  alone,  my  darling,  and  leave  me 
behind,"  he  said,  smiling  sadly,  as  he  stooped  and 
picked  up  three  or  four  of  the  fallen  primroses  from 
the  ground. 

"  Leave  you  behind  !  it's  not  very  likely,  Jesse. 
If  there  were  no  place  for  you,  I  'd  drive  you  in  upon 
my  prayers." 

When  they  reached  the  Rectory  gate,  Jesse 
looked  at  his  watch,  and  made  over  the  basket  to 
Judith. 

"  You  won't  come  in  .•* "  she  asked  wistfully. 

"  No  :  it  is  getting  late,  dear  love." 

"  Late  .''  and  it 's  not  two  o'clock  yet  ! — You  could 
stay  to  dinner,  Jesse  .''  or  " — and  her  face  fell — "  it 's 
the  post  you  want  to  get  back  for,  is  it }  You  could 
write  a  letter  here — there  is  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
before  the  time,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  it's  not  the  post  particularly,  or  anything," 
he  said   hurriedly,  boring  a  hole  with   his  stick  in 


26o  PRIMROSE-SPINNEY. 

the  rotten  post  of  the  Httle  gate,  "  but  I  've  business 
to  do." 

So  he  turned  away,  saying  he  would  be  back  again 
at  five  o'clock. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  was  at  his  desk,  writing  a 
cheque,  and  enclosing  it  in  a  letter. 

Later,  he  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  taking  his  hat 
went  out  again,  and  down  the  village. 

As  he  looked  up  into  the  blue  sky  above  him,  the 
same  that  had  smiled  down  upon  him  in  his  morning 
walk  with  Judith,  he  saw  how  the  sun  had  travelled 
down  the  side  of  Heaven.  It  had  been  in  mid-heaven 
when  they  set  out  together,  and  now  the  glory  of 
the  day  was  done. 

Would  there  ever  be  such  a  day  for  him  again .'' 
asked  Jesse  :  and  doubted. 

Mistress  Judith,  putting  her  primroses  in  the  bowl, 
doubted  not  at  all. 

Never  had  Jesse  seemed  dearer  to  her  than  to-day. 

And  there  was  his  step  upon  the  garden-walk. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

SOMETHING   FOR   AMOS. 

ABOUT  this  time  even  Parson  Ingrey  began  to 
wonder  that  Amos  did  not  come  home.  Such 
a  home-bird  as  he  had  been,  such  a  mainstay  to  his 
mother  and  to  all  affairs  at  Trotter's  End,  it  did  seem 
odd  he  should  stay  away  for  months  within  half  a 
day's  journey  of  Haslington. 

No  one  but  Mistress  Bullen  and  her  two  sons  knew 
the  reason  ;  and  she  knew  it  only  in  part. 

Amos  had  come  home  at  Christmas,  sanguine  of 
the  success  of  his  new  plan.  He  would  take  charge 
of  Trotter's  End  free  of  charge,  on  condition  that 
Jesse  would  let  him  have  the  farm  of  Cob's  Valley, 
a  mile  distant.  The  lease  was  close  upon  running 
out ;  in  the  end  of  May  it  would,  be  at  Jesse's 
disposal. 

How  could  it  be  otherwise  than  a  good  bai'gain  for 
Jesse  ?  A  bailiff — and  what  bailiff  would  do  as  Amos 
had  done  by  the  farm  .-' — during  Jesse's  absence  with 
his  regiment,  requiring  no  salary,  no  percentage  ou 


262  SOMETHING    FOR    AMOS. 

the  produce.  A  companion  for  Mistress  Bullen,  who 
so  required  it,  and  a  master  for  Cob's  Valley,  who 
would  make  it  answer  as  Trotter's  End,  under  his 
rule,  had  done.  Mistress  Bullen  longed  for  it  un- 
speakably. To  have  Amos  at  Trotter's  I^nd,  or  to 
go  with  Amos  to  the  cosy  house  on  Cob's  Valley, 
was  the  desire  of  her  heart. 

Yet  in  Jesse's  eyes  there  were  insuperable  objec- 
tions. The  lease  was  not  out  quite  yet ;  the  man  who 
had  worked  the  farm  worked  it  well — he  was  willincf 
to  renew  his  lease,  and  it  would  never  be  fair  to  turn 
him  out  without  good  reason.  Amos  thought  there 
tvas  good  reason  ;  but,  proud  and  hurt  at  Jesse's  in- 
gratitude, he  left  home  immediately,  went  back  to  the 
model  farm  and  college  where  he  was  studying,  and 
determined  only  to  come  home  when  he  felt  he  could 
go  to  Parson  Ingrey  and  claim  his  daughter. 

"  I  wouldn't  ask  her  to  marry  me  at  once,"  said 
humble  Amos  to  himself,  "  not  till  I  'd  got  a  home, 
and  set  things  agoing.  But  I've  capital  enough  to 
buy  a  bit  of  farm — and  the  more  I  can  have  my  eyes 
about  me  now  the  better  for  her — if  only  she'll  take 
me,"  said  poor  Amos,  "  if  only  ! " 

"  I  can't  hang  about  at  home  and  do  nothing,"  he 
would  say  ;  "  even  supposing  I  could  make  money 
by  that.     And  I  want  money  now,  I  do :   it 's  dirty 


SOMETHING    FOR    AMOS.  2b3 

stuff  enough  in  one's  pocket  to  spend  alone  ;  but 
you  can  dare  some  things  with  money  you  couldn't 
dare  without — that 's  certain."  And  then  he  thought 
how  he  could  make  a  home  beautiful  for  her,  and 
how  she  would  make  any  home  beautiful.  "  If  only 
she'll  take  me!"  said  poor  Amos,  "if  only!"  That 
was  the  refrain  of  every  song. 

He  had  hopes  of  a  farm  to  be  let  in  May.  When 
the  time  came  he  meant  to  run  down  and  look  at  it, 
and  learn  his  fate.  But  he  could  not  help  hoping 
that  before  that  time  Jesse  would  have  got  his  com- 
mission and  gone  away.  He  did  not  want  to  quarrel 
with  his  brother ;  especially  as  high  words  between 
them  would  grieve  his  mother  so.  And  he  knew 
there  would  be  high  words  if  he  were  long  with  Jesse. 
Besides  he  was  not  wanted  now  at  Trotter's  End, 
where  Jesse  was  master ;  and  Amos  was  too  proud  to 
go  where  he  could  have  been  spared. 

Through  the  long  spring  day  he  worked  away, 
sparing  no  time  or  trouble  where  anything  new  was 
to  be  gained.  There  was  an  object  in  his  life  that 
never  for  an  instant  faded  out  of  sight.  And  so  the 
long  days  went  by,  and  folk  wondered  he  did  not 
come  home.  He  sometimes  wondered  a  little  him- 
self, when  the  longing  to  see  the  face  of  Mistress 
Judith  seized  him.     But  he  had  settled  it  was  best 


264  SOMETHING    FOR    AMOS. 

to  keep  away  till  May ;  and  what  Amos  settled 
he  kept  to. 

About  the  end  of  April,  sooner  than  he  had  ex- 
pected, for  the  Parson  had  been  up  to  London  more 
than  once  and  left  no  stone  unturned,  Jesse  got  his 
commission.  He  had  passed  high  on  the  list,  and 
that  too  was  in  his  favour.  He  must  join  immedi- 
ately, and  his  quarters  for  the  present  would  be 
Dublin. 

This  news,  long  as  it  had  been  expected,  was 
a  little  bewildering.  Jesse,  with  his  natural  shrink- 
ing from  disagreeables,  had  been  contented  with 
leaving  the  difficulties  it  would  bring  to  the  day 
itself. 

Now  the  day  had  come,  and  there  stood  all  the 
difficulties  and  all  the  disagreeables  facing  him. 
Neither  was  there  any  time  to  consider  —  he  must 
solve  them  at  once. 

Leaving  Judith,  even  for  a  time,  was  bad  enough. 
But  now  report  said  Amos  was  coming  home.  He 
was  certain  to  come  at  some  time  or  other  during 
Jesse's  absence.  And  Jesse  had  an  instinct  which 
told  him  that  when  Amos  came  it  Avould  be  to  tell 
his  love  to  Judith.  Then — what  would  Judith  think  ? 
For  Amos,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment, 
would  never  fail  to  tell  her  of  his  (Jesse's)  breach  of 


SOMETHING    FOR    AMOS.  265 

trust.  And  Jesse  trembled,  thinking  of  what  might 
be  the  consequence  of  that. 

Mistress  Judith  had  become  necessary  to  his  hfe. 
At  all  costs  he  must  hold  and  keep  her. 

But  it  was  a  disagreeable  alternative  that  of  telling 
Amos  of  his  infidelity,  or  suffering  Amos  to  discover 
it  to  Judith  a  little  later.  Jesse  looked  very  harassed 
those  two  days  while  he  was  making  up  his  mind  ; 
and  Judith  thought  it  was  all  because  he  had  to  go 
away  and  leave  her. 

*'  Don't  be  down-hearted,  dear  love,"  she  said  ;  "  it 's 
only  for  a  little  while.    You  know  I  '11  be  true  to  you." 

The  third  day,  with  the  courage  these  last  words 
lent  him,  he  rushed  to  write  to  Amos.  Paper  does 
not  blush,  as  the  saying  goes. 

And  then — there  was  no  help  for  it,  he  must  part 
with  Mistress  Judith,  blue-eyed  and  tearful,  at  the 
Rectory  gate. 

"  Give  me  a  flower,"  said  bv^,  "  to  take  away."  And 
she  gave  him  a  bunch  of  blue  hyacinths,  grown  limp 
in  her  warm  hand. 

"  They  're  very  faded,  Jesse,"  she  said  sadly,  but 
trying  to  look  cheerful  through  her  tears — "  but  the}'- 
mean  a  great  deal." 

"Not  that  your  love  is  fading,  dear  heart?"  said 
Jesse,  slipping  them  into  his  button -hole. 


266  SOMETHING    FOR    AMOS. 

Judith  stretched  out  her  arms,  and  put  them  round 
his  neck.  It  did  not  the  least  matter  that  Mistress 
Hurst  was  washing  clothes  in  the  window  opposite. 

"Say  no  more  of  things  like  that,  Jesse,  if  you 
love  me.  I  '11  never  change  whether  we  die  or  live. 
And  we  '11  soon  meet,  you  know — and  I  '11  pray  for 
you." 

"Yes,"  said  he  sharply ;  in  a  low  voice — "pray! — 
you  don't  know  how  much  need  there  is  of  it." 

And  up  came  the  Parson,  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
lad's  shoulder,  and  said  cheerfully — 

"  Fear  nothing,  lad — I  '11  look  after  her.  When 
your  settled  and  that,  and  have  seen  what  sort  of 
place  it  is  your  going  to,  write  to  me." 

And  both  Judith  and  Jesse  knew  that  he  meant 
that  before  very  long  they  should  be  married. 

So  one  more  kiss,  and  one  more  wring  of  the 
Parson's  hand,  and  Jesse  was  gone.  And  as  he 
passed  the  post-office  he  posted  his  letter  to  Amos, 
lie  did  not  care  how  soon  he  left  Haslington  after 
that 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

"THE   LOVE-LIGHT   IN   HIS  EYES." 

EXT  eveaing-,  as  Mistress  Bullen  walked  dis- 
consolately up  and  down  the  garden  at  the 
Farm,  knitting,  looking  at  the  roses,  and  thinking,  she 
felt  more  down-hearted  than  even  the  loss  of  Jesse 
seemed  to  justify. 

Her  calm  face  was  full  of  trouble,  for  she  was  follow- 
ing the  letter  that  was  speeding  to  Amos,  the  letter 
that  would  blight  all  his  prospects  and  turn  the  sweet- 
ness of  life  into  gall  and  bitterness. 

After  the  fashion  of  good  and  tender-hearted  souls, 
she  asked  herself  again  and  again  if  she  had  done 
right  ?  Ought  she  to  have  told  Amos  against  Jesse's 
wish  ?  Was  she  quite  certain  that  Jesse  to  the  last 
would  have  forbidden  her  to  write  ?  She  could  be 
sure  of  nothing  but  this — Amos  loved  Judith  first, 
with  a  love  too  deep  for  any  words ;  and  Jesse  had 
come  in,  loved  her  too — "as  deeply?"  asked  Mistress 
Bullen — and  had  taken  the  prize  away. 

When  she  was  tired  of  walking  to  and  fro,  and 


268  ''the  love-light 

more  tired  of  her  ceaseless  self-questionings,  she  went 
round  to  the  yard  to  look  at  her  chickens. 

And  as  she  stood  talking  to  Jephtha  it  seemed 
to  her  that  suddenly  she  passed  into  dream-land. 
For  there,  with  a  bright  fresh  colour  in  his  face,  his 
russet  hair  tossed  back,  and  his  long  legs  striding 
across  the  yard,  came  Amos. 

Mistress  Bullen  could  say  nothing.  Her  heart  leapt 
at  seeing  him,  and  then  fell.  Did  he  know .-'  Why 
had  he  come .'' 

"Well,  mother,"  he  said,  folding  her  in  his  great 
arms  ;  "you  don't  seem  half  glad  to  see  me.  Did  you 
guess  it  was  I  when  you  heard  the  wheels  ? " 

"  I  never  noticed  them,  dear  son,"  said  she,  hold- 
ing his  hand  and  stroking  it.  "  I  had  no  one  to  look 
for." 

"But,  mother — I  told  you  I  was  coming  in  May — 
and  as  to  the  day,  why  I  found  I  could  get  off 
sooner,  and  so  I  came  right  au^ay.  The  man  is  turn- 
•  ing  out  of  the  farm  I  'm  looking  after  a  week  sooner, 
and  they  'II  be  glad  I  should  look  at  it  at  once.  And 
]  'm  glad,  too,  before  it 's  snapped  up.  Oh,  how 
beautiful  the  old  place  is  looking ! "  said  he,  lifting 
up  his  hat,  pushing  his  hair  back,  and  looking  round 
at  the  farm-house,  at  the  village  below,  at  the  Rec- 
tory gable. 


IN    HIS    EYES."  269 

He  stood  looking- a  moment.  Mistress  Bullen  tried 
to  draw  him  round  the  corner  to  the  front  of  the 
house.  He  resisted  for  a  httle,  still  looking :  and 
then  followed  her.  ^ 

"  Little  mother,"  said  he,  and  Mistress  Bullen's 
heart  began  to  he.-'  faster,  because  his  voice  had 
changed.  "  Little  mother — do  you  guess  why  I  've 
come  .''  Have  I  been  too  long  telling  }'ou  ?  but  you  've 
seen  it  before,  haven't  }^ou  ?  Tell  me  how  she  is, 
mother — is  she  lookicg  well .'' — is  she  as  beautiful  as 
she  was .''  Why  don't  you  speak,  mother  ?  Well,  I 
thought  you  'd  have  been  a  little  surprised,  but  not 
so  much  as  this.  There 's  nothing  amiss,  is  there  ? 
You  love  her,  don't  you  ?  You  see  she 's  an  angel, 
don't  you,  mother,  as  other  folks  do  .'' 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  frighten  you."  And  he  put  his 
arm  close  round  her  and  led  her  into  the  house. 
"  I  '11  wait  a  minute  before  I  say  more,  and  you  'II 
feel  better.  You  were  always  one  to  get  pale 
when  we'd  any  good  news  to  give  you.  Where's 
Jesse.'*"  he  said  cheerfully,  but  changing  the  subject 
with  an  effort,  and  giving  a  sort  of  quick  happy 
sigh. 

"Jesse's  gone,  dear  son,"  said  Mistress  Bullen 
calmly — "  you  didn't " 

But  Amos  stopped  her. 


270  "the  love-light 

"Gone!  is  he?"  There  was  such  marked  exulta- 
tion in  his  voice  that  he  saw  it  himself,  and  hastened 
to  atone  for  it. 

"You  know  I  thought  to  find  him  here  still, 
though  I  got  your  letter  yesterday  saying  he  had 
got  the  commission  at  last.  Do  you  know,  mother 
• — it's  very  stupid  of  course  —  but  for  the  moment 
I  couldn't  help  being  glad } — there  is  the  seed  of  the 
old  feeling  of  jealousy  still  in  me.  I  couldn't  help 
thinking  sometimes,  when  I  got  down-hearted  and 
low  and  that,  of  how  Jesse  got  all  things  he  wanted, 
and  how  all  folk  grew  to  love  him.  And  that  would 
cut  me  up,  mother,  do  you  know,  just  as  if  it  were 
really  happening.  But  it's  all  well  now,  mother,  isn't 
it.?  if  only  she '11 " 

"Amos,"  said  Mistress  Bullen. 

He  looked  at  her,  and  his  face  too  paled. 

"Good  God!"  he  said,  "she's  not  ill,  mother — not 
dead } " 

"  No,  dear  son ;    but  I   fear   she 's  dead   to   you. 
She's     promised     herself    away    to     another    man 
Amos.     Dear  son — it 's  God's  will — bear  up  if  you 
can." 

And  Amos  was  bearing  up,  if  perfect  stillness  is 
that.  With  white  face  fixed  upon  his  mother,  every 
atom  of  colour  passed  away,  there  he  sat  speechless. 


IN    HIS    EYES."  271 

And  the  big  parlour  clock  ticked  out  through  the 
silence,  while  mother  and  son  sat  on. 

It  was  some  moments  before  Amos  stood  up  and 
walked  to  the  window.  There  was  another  silence 
after  that  before  he  said,  not  looking  round— 

"  Who  is  it,  mother  } " 

Mistress  Bullen  not  answering,  he  turned  quickly 
enough,  and  sat  down  heavily  beside  her  on  the  sofa. 

"  Well  ? "  said  he  stolidly. 

Still  no  answer.      Mistress  Bullen  was  praying. 

"  You'd  better  speak  out,"  said  Amos,  throwing  up 
his  head,  after  his  own  fashion,  and  looking  at  the  top 
of  the  bookcase  before  him.  '  It  can  matter  very 
little  who  it  is  now.  But  Jesse  might  have  told  me  if 
he  couldn't  prevent  it — he  might  have  told  me  some 
one  was  after  her,  just  to  break  the  blow  a  little. 
Jesse  must  have  seen  it,  he's  been  here  all  the  time." 

He  spoke  so  quietly,  that  Mistress  Bullen,  having 
prayed,  took  courage. 

"He  has  written  to  tell  you,"  she  said — "  he  wrote 
the  letter  yesterday,  and  it  missed  you.  He  had 
some  reason  for  not  telling  you  before,  and  I  couldn't 
do  it  without  his  leave." 

"  His  leave  ?  cried  Amos  ; — "  his  leave  ?  What- 
ever has  he  to  do  with  her  or  me,  or  the  man  she 's 
given  her  love  to  ? " 


272  "the  love-light 

"  Hush,  dear  son — he's  more  to  do  than  )'Ou.think." 
Mistress  BuUen  laid  her  hand  on  Amos.  "  It 's  he 
that  has  won  her  for  himseh" — Jesse's  to  marry 
Mistress  Judith." 

The  old  low  room  rattled  as  Amos  sprung  to 
his  feet,  flinging  his  mother's  hand  roughly  from 
him. 

"  Where  's  Jesse  ?  "  he  cried  ;  "  where  is  he — traitor, 
fiend  ! — false  coward  that  he  is " 

"  Thank  God,  he  is  gone,"  said  Mistress  Bullen. 

"Ay — gone!  that's  very  likely.  He  wrote  and 
then  he  went  away  ?  Brave  man,  true  brother  ! — 
you  've  to  be  proud  of  him — you  who  bore  him — wolf 
with  a  lamb's  courage.    Ah  me  ! — O  God  ! — O  God  !" 

All  that  evening,  swaying  himself  to  and  fro,  to  and 
fro  on  the  sofa,  sat  Amos,  his  face  covered  with  his 
hands.     And  Mistress  Bullen  sat  beside  him. 

From  fury  to  despair,  from  despair  to  fury  ;  it  was 
a  hard  time  for  gentle  Mistress  Bullen. 

And  the  evening  sun  kept  streaming  in,  and  louder 
and  louder  piped  the  canary  in  the  window.  What 
cared  sun  or  canary  for  broken  hearts  .'' 

And  there  were  two  in  that  room  well-nigh  broken. 
For  on  Mistress  Bullen  a  double  grief  had  fallen. 
The  wreck  of  Amos  stared  her  in  the  face,  while  all 
the  time  his  wild  voice  kept  telling   her  that  Jesse 


IN    HIS    EYES.'  2/3 

had  dpne   it — Jesse  had  been  false- — Jesse   was    the 
Cain  who  had  destroyed  her  Abel. 

*'  O  God  !  O  God  !  "  said  Amos  ;  poor  Amos,  who 
should  have  said  rather,  "  O  Sin  !  O  Jesse  !  " 

Suddenly  he  seized  his  hat  and  rushed  out  into  the 
twilight  His  mother's  broken  voice  pursued  him  with 
a  piteous  entreaty  to  come  back.  But  the  sound  died 
in  the  stillness,  and  she  could  hear  his  hard  breathing 
as  he  rushed  across  the  bridge.  She  could  hear  now 
that  he  had  turned  the  corner  and  was  making  for  the 
Rectory. 

She  grew  more  sick  at  heart  as  she  thought  of 
Mistress  Judith  and  the  vain  anguish  Amos  was 
going  to  give  her.  The  thought  gave  her  strength, 
and  she  ran  to  the  hedge  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden, 
where  she  knew  she  could  make  him  hear. 

"  Amos,  for  God's  sake,  listen  to  me.  She  '11  never 
change  her  vow  to  Jesse,  having  once  given  it — 
you  '11  only  break  her  heart,  and  all  for  nothing — 
do  you  hear,  lad  ? — do  you  hear .''  " 

He  had  checked  his  stride  a  little,  and  she  hoped 
he  had  heard  her ;  but  he  only  shook  his  head  for 
answer,  and  strode  on.  Mistress  BuUen,  sighing, 
clasped  her  hands  and  went  slowly  back  to  the 
dark  room  in  the  Farm,  and  put  the  baize  cover 
over  the  canary's  cage. 


274  "the  love-light 

Amos  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  Rectory.  He 
could  see  the  light  in  the  kitchen  window.  He  could 
see  that  in  the  sitting-room  windows  there  were  as 
yet  no  light's.  The  sun  had  only  just  set,  and  there 
was  the  pale  grey  of  a  May  twilight  resting  on  the 
place.  Perhaps  she  was  gone  :  the  house  seemed  so 
still  and  dark,  except  for  Ruth's  figure  crossing  the 
kitchen  window  now  and  then.  Perhaps  God  had 
been  merciful  and  taken  her  av/ay  just  at  this  one 
wild  moment,  that  Amos  might  not  be  suffered  to 
destroy  her  peace.  And  then  Amos's  heart  beat 
loudly  as  he  stood  beyond  the  hedge  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  garden,  just  where  the  margin  of  grass 
upon  the  roadside  swept  up  into  a  velvety  mound 
for  the  privet  to  grow  upon.  For  there  was  a  step 
in  the  hall — a  light  step — and  then  a  figure  stood  in 
the  doorway,  under  the  clematis  that  he  knew  so 
well. 

She  looked  round  the  garden  :  he  could  not  see  her 
face  clearly,  but  he  knew  by  the  movement  of  her 
head  that  she  was  looking  round.  Amos  stood 
looking  at  her  motionless  and  dumb.  Would  those 
wild  eyes  not  call  her  to  him  ?  would  his  anguish 
strike  no  chord  in  her,  and  draw  her  to  him  }  Hide  ? 
— why  should  he  hide .'' — let  her  sec  him,  let  her  find 
him  and  know  it  all.     He  was  waiting  only  for  his 


IN    HIS    EYES."  27j 

voice  to  come  back  to  him  that  he  might  call  her. 
He  was  waiting  for  the  power  of  movement  to  leap 
this  little  hedge,  and  have  her  for  his  own.  Jesse's 
time  had  been  and  was  over.  Jesse,  the  traitor,  the 
untrue, — she  could  not  love  him  when  she  knew  it  all- 
Mistress  Judith  drew  a  letter  from  her  pocket,  and 
came  out  from  under  the  clematis  to  read  it  in  the 
light.  Amos  could  hear  her  murmuring  over  it,  could 
hear  a  low  laugh  of  bliss,  as  she  turned  it  over  in 
her  hands.  She  could  hardly  see  it  in  the  twilight, 
and  she  moved  her  head  constantly,  and  the  letter, 
to  catch  a  ray. 

Amos  moved  under  the  shadow  of  the  elm  that 
she  might  not  see  him.  "Hide?"  he  still  said  to 
himself — "hide?" — but  he  moved  under  the  shadow 
as  he  said  it.  Could  he  grieve  her,  could  he  break 
her  idol  and  see  her  sad  as  he  was  .-*  "O  God!" 
he  said,  beneath  his  breath  again — and  this  time  it 
seemed  God  took  it  for  a  prayer  and  lent  him 
courage. 

Amos  put  his  arm  round  the  trunk  of  the  elm  to 
steady  himself.  He  knew  he  wanted  strength:  he 
knew  now  that  he  loved  her  too  well  to  grieve  her  : 
he  knew  she  did  not  fret  for  him,  that  she  loved  and 
believed  in  Jesse.  So  he  knew  too  that  he  was  going 
to  take  a  last  look  before  turning  away  for  ever. 


276  "the  love-light  in  his  eyes." 

He  grasped  the  tree  tighter  as  his  eyes  went  out 
yearningly  towards  her,  straining  to  see  her  face 
only  once  :  once  that  must  do  for  all  the  years  to 
come. 

He  looked,  and  just  then  Judith  put  the  letter  to 
her  lips  and  kissed  it. 

Amos's  hold  on  the  tree  slackened.  He  bent  his 
head,  and  turning  round,  went  up  the  road  slowly. 

Next  day  all  the  folk  wondered  that  Mistress  Bul- 
len  was  alone  again,  and  Master  Amos  gone 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 


SHADOWS. 


SO  if  Mistress  Judith's  heart  was  to  be  broken, 
it  would  not  be  by  Amos  Bullen. 

She  troubled  herself  very  little  this  time  that  he 
had  been  home  and  had  not  come  to  see  her.  She 
was  used  to  his  unkind  thoughtless  ways  now,  and 
then  her  mind  was  full  of  Jesse.  Jesse  who  had 
gone  to  begin  his  new  life — Jesse  her  lover,  so  soon 
to  be  her  husband,  who  had  gone  first  to  see  what 
sort  oi  a  place  it  was,  and  then  would  come  back 
and  take  her  away. 

When  she  thought  of  leaving  her  father,  her  joy 
clouded  a  little.  But  the  Parson  spoke  so  cheerily 
of  the  separation,  promised  so  often  to  come  and  see 
them,  seemed  as  anxious  as  Judith  herself  that  the 
marriage  should  not  be  delayed  ;  so  that  all  the 
future  Avas  rosy  with  gladness,  and  Mistress  Judith 
went  to  and  fro  again  in  the  summering  garden,  and 
to  Master  Hurst's,  singing  in  her  heart  all  the  day 
long.    This  is  a  beautiful  beautiful  May,  said  Mistress 


270  SHADOWS. 

Judith,  so  what  will  next  May  be  ?  And  she  smiled 
to  herself  over  the  lilies  of  the  valley  she  held  in 
her  hand,  and  thought  how  she  wished  lilies  bloomed 
on  till  July  and  August ;  for  by  that  time  she  was  safe 
to  be  walking  across  the-  churchyard  to  be  married 
to  Jesse,  and  she  would  wear  a  bunch  of  them  in  her 
hair. 

Master  Hurst  had  got  reconciled  to  Jesse's  having 
won  the  prize.  At  least  he  smiled  over  Judith's  happy 
face,  and  left  off  speaking  about  Amos.  And  he 
watched  for  the  mail-bag  every  afternoon,  and  shook 
his  old  head  saucily  when  every  two  or  three  days 
the  mail-bag  stopped  and  Mistress  Judith  carried  off  a 
letter.  Master  Hurst  was  nearly  fourscore  years  old, 
but  he  had  life  enough  left  in  him  to  enjoy  fair  things 
yet.  And  the  love  of  such  a  one  as  Mistress  Judith 
seemed  a  very  fair  thing  to  Master  Hurst.  It  cast 
its  halo  about  Jesse  Bullen  ;  so  that  the  old  man, 
leaning  like  Jacob  upon  his  staff,  named  two  names 
now  in  his  daily  praj'ers,  and  prayed  God  to  make 
his  blessed  little  lady  happy. 

Letters  enough  came  for  Mistress  Judith.  But  not 
enough  came  to  the  Parson.  At  least  one  day  in 
June  he  was  on  his  way  to  Trotter's  End,  to  ask 
Mistress  Bullen  if  she  had  had  late  news  of  the  lad, 
and  if  he  had  sent  any  message  to  him,  the  Parson. 


SHADOWS.  279 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  he,  as  he  walked  along 
musing — "it 'snot  like  Jesse  to  keep  me  waiting  for 
an  answer  on  business  matters  Perhaps  he 's  trying 
to  make  a  larger  settlement  on  her,  poor  lad,  and 
there 's  no  need  for  that.  She  '11  do  very  well,  very 
well — eh  .?  And — ah,  oh  —  how  d'ye  do,  Mistress 
Mulberry,  my  dear  ?  and  how's  the  ba " 

He  had  just  been  going  to  ask  the  fatal  question, 
but  Mistress  Mulberry,  knowing  what  to  fear,  had 
passed  by  with  a  curtsey. 

The  Parson  had  a  long  talk  with  his  lad's  mother 
that  day.  And  yet  they  came  to  no  conclusion, 
satisfied  each  other  not  the  least  on  the  subject  of 
Jesse.  It  seemed  as  if  both  were  on  their  guard, 
both  longing  to  know  more,  both  fearing  to  show 
they  feared  anything. 

And  both  feared,  just  a  little,  that  things  were 
not  quite  right  with  Jesse.  The  Parson  because  he 
could  not  get  Jesse  to  say  what  sum  should  be 
settled  on  Judith  :  Mistress  Bullen  because  twice 
she  had  had  to  forward  letters  to  Dublin  that  she 
did  not  like  the  looks  of  "Bills.?"  said  Mistress 
Bullen  sighing.  It  must  be  a  large  bill,  since  it 
was  sent  in  twice  the  same  week  (that  week  in 
which  Jesse  had  gone).  And  it  was  the  same  bill 
certainly,    for    Mistress    Bullen    did    not    see    many 


28o  SHADOWS. 

letters,  and  she  remembered  handwritings  well. 
"  Bills  .'' "  thought  the  Parson  too,  asking  it  of  him- 
self, but  angry  the  next  moment  at  the  foul 
suggestion.  Why  should  he  doubt  Jesse,  his  lad, 
on  such  slight  grounds  as  these  ? 

And  so  they  parted,  each  saying  to  the  other  that 
all  was  well. 

It  was  a  few  weeks  later  than  this  that  Mistress 
Bullen,  sitting  in  her  chair  by  the  window,  was 
startled  by  the  sight  of  two  men  in  long  black  coats, 
townfolk  evidently  and  no  men  of  Haslington,  lean- 
ing upon  the  bridge,  and  looking  about  them. 
Strangers  never  came  to  Trotter's  End  :  and  Mis- 
tress Bullen  did  not  like  the  sight  of  them  to-day. 
From  that  hour  she  was  more  certain  than  ever  that 
all  was  not  well.  But  she  told  no  one,  not  even  the 
Parson,  of  the  two  strangers,  and  she  tried  to  account 
to  herself  for  their  appearance  in  many  ways.  But 
women  alone  and  brooding  build  fabrics  of  fancy : 
and  no  arguing  on  the  other  side  convinced  her  that 
there  was  not  something  going  wrong  with  Jesse. 
Her  faith  in  him  had  been  shaken  once  :  he  had  done 
that  to  Amos  which  it  was  not  easy  for  a  mother  to 
forget. 

When  Mistress  Bullen's  fears  tormented  her  greatly, 
she  had  a  fashion  of  going  to  her  desk,  and  looking 


SHADOWS.  281 

over  her  papers  and  accounts  to  see  that  the  Farm 
was  doing  well.  And  that  comforted  her,  for  sure 
enough  the  Farm  was  paying. 

There  were  Amos's  accounts  in  his  clear  round 
handwriting,  tied  neatly  with  red  tape,  and  labelled 
with  dates  and  terms.  ' 

There  were  some  loose  scattered  papers  in  Jesse's 
handwriting;  and  then  came  the  accounts  of  the  last 
two  months  since  Jesse  had  gone.  These  were  in 
Mistress  Bullen's  own  handwriting,  and  as  well  kept 
as  any  clerk's.  She  had  a  very  clear  head,  and  could 
not  be  deceiving  herself.  All  was  doing  well  on 
the  Farm.  Then  why  did  not  Jesse  settle  the  two 
thousand,  as  he  intended,  upon  Mistress  Judith,  and 
let  the  wedding  be.''  And  what  were  those  letters 
that  looked  like  bills  ?  And  was  Jesse  still  getting 
them  at  Dublin  .-' 

Jesse  did  not  write  very  often  to  his  mother  now. 
She  sighed  over  him,  being  his  mother.  And  she 
would  have  sighed  more  had  she  seen  him  sometimes 
in  his  barrack-room,  his  face  clouded  with  an  anxiety 
that  was  to  her  a  secret,  and  losing  the  first  freshness 
of  his  manhood  over  mysterious  troubles  of  which 
he  alone  could  bear  the  burden. 

Two  months  he  had   been   a  soldier,  and  the  life 
was  what  he  liked.     Yet  the  core  of  sweetness  had 


282  SHADOWS. 

been  plucked  out  of  it.  He  knew  that  he  was  a 
harassed  man. 

It  did  not  comfort  him  when  letters  came  from 
the  Parson,  begging  him  to  make  an  effort  to  get 
the  settlements  made  out,  promising  to  his  daughter 
a  dower  of  one  hundred  pounds  a  year,  with  the  sum 
of  eight  thousand  to  become  hers  at  his  death. 

Jesse  had  promised  to  settle  two  thousand  on  his 
wife  in  the  first  days  of  his  betrothal.  Now  he  had 
but  to  put  that  promise  in  writing,  and  Mistress 
Judith  would  be  his.  Two  thousand  .'*  It  was  nothing 
from  Jesse  Bullen's  fortune.  And  yet  he  sat  with  tied 
hands  at  his  table  :  the  Parson's  letter  on  one  side, 
another  letter  on  the  other.  Between  them  both  a 
cheque-book. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

JESSE'S   TROUBLES. 

THE  tone  of  the  other  letter  seemed  the  most 
peremptory  of  the  two.  At  least  after  a 
moment's  consideration,  Jesse  drew  the  book  to- 
wards him  and  wrote  a  cheque  for  the  sum  of  fifty 
pounds. 

How  he  loathed  the  name  written  there.  How 
horridly  familiar  it  had  become  to  him  of  late.  Of 
late  ?  said  Jesse,  trying  to  think  how  long  this  night- 
mare had  been  upon  him,  and  bowing  his  head  upon 
his  hands  when  he  remembered  that  it  dated  barely 
four  months  back. 

Four  months,  and  four  months,  and  four  months 
— how  many  four  months  would  go  to  make  a  life- 
time ?  And  yet  there  was  something  worse  to  fear 
than  even  this  teasing  nightmare.  Fifty  pounds  once 
in  the  first  month,  twice  in  the  next,  and  again  in  the 
third,  would  probably  be  followed  by  a  demand  for 
one  hundred  in  the  month  to  come.  And  Jesse 
Bullen's  purse  could  not  stand  this.     After  a  year  or 


284  JESSE'S    TROUBLES. 

two  he  must   fail  —  borrow  money  as   he  would,  it 

could  not  last    long.      And   then ?      "^Vhy,  then 

would  happen  just  what  he  was  averting  now, — 
ruining  himself  to  avert.  It  must  come  sooner  or 
later. 

Jesse  Bullen  writhed  when  he  thought  of  the  worry 
and  gnaw  and  perplexity  he  had  brought  upon  him- 
self. He  could'  not  stand  worry  and  trouble.  And 
then  he  tried  to  shc;v  how  he  had  not  brought  it  upon 
himself — not  altogether.  Circumstance,  temptation, 
Providence — ah,  holy  Providence !  it  is  sad  what  is 
laid  by  irreverent  humanity  to  thy  share. 

Jesse  Bullen,  it  is  true,  was  neither  a  criminal,  nor 
contemplating  any  crime.  No  secret  marriage  stood 
between  him  and  Mistress  Judith  :  he  had  taken  care 
in  man-fashion  to  sin  respectably  if  he  sinned  :  pay- 
ing due  regard  to  his  convenience  hereafter.  Neither 
was  he  a  forger  nor  a  perjurer.  And  yet  he  was 
suffering,  and  by  his  own  fault.  That  he  was  not 
any  of  these  and  yet  suffered,  was  a  proof  to  Jesse 
that  he  suffered  unjustly.  Criminals  ought  to  suffer: 
but  a  little  carelessness,  a  false  step,  a  mistake — 
surely  that  was  not  deserving  of  such  a  punishment. 
And  it  is  a  punishment  indeed,  to  see  that  long  lane 
which  has  no  turning,  or  turns  suddenly,  abruptly, 
into  a  slough  of  despond. 


JESSE'S    TROUBLES.  285 

Jesse  Bullen,  with  all  his  respectability,  had  taken 
a  false  step :  he  was  tied  hand  and  foot  by  meshes 
there  was  no  escaping. 

And  there  lay  the  Parson's  letter  unanswered   be-  ^ 
fore  him. 

He  considered  a  long  time,  and  then  he  wrote. 

In  a  few  days,  the  Parson's  answer  came 
back  : — 

"  Dear  lad — I  don't  understand  the  difficulty  you 
hint  at  in  giving  me  your  promise  in  legal  form  of  the 
two  thousand.  I  am  a  bit  of  a  business  man  myself, 
and  like  sticking  to  forms  in  all  cases.  But  in  this 
case  I  know  well  enough  who  I  am  dealing  with  to 
put  it  by,  and  trust  to  you  that  nothing  is  more  amiss 
than  what  you  say.  There  will  be  no  occasion  for  me 
to  look  over  the  Farm  accounts  with  your  mother, 
because  she  tells  me,  and  you  tell  me,  that  all  is  well 
there.  You  will  have  plenty  of  money  with  God's 
blessing,  and  my  child  has  no  foolish  tastes  to  burden 
you  with.  I  shall  therefore  pay  you  yearly  during  my  j 
lifetime  the  sum  of  one  hundred  pounds,  and  eight 
thousand  is  already  settled  upon  Judith,  to  be  payable 
at  my  death. 

"  Nothing  remains  for  you  now  but  at  }-our  con- 
venience to  settle  with  her  the  day  for  your  marriage. 
The  earlier  the  better  :  but  she  will  want  a  month  or 


286  JESSE'S    TROUBLES. 

three  weeks'  notice,  to  bid  farewell  to  her  poor  folk, 
and  to  prepare  her  old  father  for  the  loss  of  her. 
May  God  bless  you,  dear  lad  ;  and  I  am,  yours  truly, 

"  John  Ingrey." 

Parson  Ingrey,  a  man  of  few  words,  and  very 
tender-hearted  under  his  thick  coat  of  reserve,  felt 
quite  uncomfortable  after  he  had  written  the  letter 
and  posted  it.  That  sentence  about  "  trusting  there 
was  nothing  more  amiss  "  might  have  been  left  out  : 
when  had  the  lad  ever  done  anything  to  deserve 
</zi-trust .''  The  Parson  was  getting  happier  in  his 
mind  about  the  bills,  seeing  all  the  accounts  were 
satisfactory,  and  Jesse  had  sold  no  timber  even,  laid 
no  burden  on  the  Farm  as  yet. 

No  news,  but  the  news  of  the  death  of  one  man, 
could  give  great  relief  to  Jesse  Bullen.  But  the  Par- 
son's letter  gave  him  as  much  as  he  could  expect 
from  any  quarter.  The  idea  of  the  two  thousand 
was  off  his  mind. 

Poor  Mistress  Judith  :  the  two  thousand  would  not 
be  for  her.  But  it  might  stave  off  the  crash  a  while 
longer.  Two  thousand  in  settlements  would  be 
out  of  Jesse's  reach :  now  he  could  use  it  as  he 
would. 

"  It  will  stave  it  off  from  her,"  said  Jesse,  not  too 
selfish  sometimes  to  think  of  the  girl  he  loved  from 


JESSE'S    TROUBLES.  287 

the  bottom  of  his  heart  :  but  far  too  selfish  to  think 
of  going  to  her,  confessing  everything,  giving  her  up. 
Giving  her  up  ! — what  would  that  mean  but  giving 
her  to  Amos  ? 

No,  no  :  the  thing  to  be  considered  now  was  how 
soon  the  wedding  could  possibly  be.  He  must  secure 
Mistress  Judith  soon,  or  she  might  be  put  out  of 
his  reach.  It  was  a  case  of  sitting  upon  gunpowder : 
and  there  was  no  knowing  what  any  day  might  bring 
forth. 

So  he  wanted  to  write  to  Judith  and  say  "  let  it 
be  in  three  weeks'  time."  It  seemed  easy  enough, 
and  yet  here  he  was  hindered.  He  had  his  reasons 
for  not  wishing  that  Paxton  Dick  should  know  that 
any  time  was  fixed  upon.  Paxton  Dick  was  too  deep 
in  his  confidence  already.  And  if  the  day  were  fixed, 
it  would  be  over  the  village  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye.  And  then  there  would  be  three  weeks  for  Pax- 
ton Dick  and  a  more  dangerous  man  than-  he,  to  do 
their  work. 

What  work  Jesse  hardly  knew ;  but  he  could  not 
help  fearing. 

Finally,  saying  to  himself  that  he  was  a  coward, 
he  wrote  ^o  Judith  and  asked  her  to  fix  the  day. 
He  could  get  a  wreck's  leave  somehow  for  the 
wedding. 


288  JESSE'S    TROUBLES. 

And  his  heart  gave  a  great  throb  of  hope  when 
he  thought  that,  come  what  might  hereafter,  in  three 
weeks'  time  Judith  would  be  his  wife. 

And,  once  his  wife,  she  would  never  forsake  him. 
Jesse  knew  her  well  enough  for  that 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

THE   CLOUDING  OF   THE   SKY. 

IT  was  just  ten  days  before  the  wedding,  %vhich 
was  fixed  for  an  early  day  in  August.  Mistress 
Judith  was  sitting  in  Master  Hurst's  garden,  hem- 
mipj  a  tucker.  It  was  all  the  assistance  she  had 
given  as  yet  to  the  trousseau. 

But  to-day  Mistress  Bullen  and  she  were  going  to 
Cambridge  to  buy  the  wedding-gown. 

Master  Hurst  was  very  woeful,  because  his  lady 
would  be  ta'en  away.  Mistress  Hurst  "  hoped  there 
weren't  very  rough  ways  and  that  at  the  army,"  and 
that  Master  Hurst  would  not  forget  "all  the  good 
words  as  his  lady  had  larned  him,  but  moind  and 
keep  on  moinding  the  consekences  of  sin,  and  that." 

Mistress  Judith  was  half  sad,  half  glad.  Her  eyes 
filled  when  she  looked  at  the  old  man,  who  kept  say- 
intr.  with  feeble  shakes  of  his  bald  head,  that  he  would 
never  see  her  not  no  more — not  till  he  see'd  her  in 
tlie  good  place,  where  through  the  mercy  of  God  he 
hoped  to  go. 


290  THE    CLOUDING 

"  I  be  drawing  off,  missus,"  he  would  say ;  "  I  be 
drawing  off  to  death.  The  Lord  he  '11  not  forget  me 
not  much  longer  now." 

But  when  Mistress  Judith  grew  sad,  she  tried  to 
think  of  the  wedding-gown  it  was  time  to  buy.  Not 
that  she  cared  very  much  for  the  gown  itself,  whether 
it  were  silk,  satin,  or  stuff,  so  long  as  Jesse  liked  it ; 
but  the  wedding-gown  was  like  a  talisman  to  her. 
The  tears  dried  from  her  blue  eyes  as  dew  from 
violets  when  the  sun  shines. 

It  was  settled  that  it  was  to  be  a  white  muslin 
dress,  frilled  and  tucked  a  little,  that  was  all.  Then 
there  was  some  lace  of  her  mother's  that  was  to  be 
put  on  the  sleeves  and  bodice ;  and  there  was  to  be 
no  wreath,  only  such  flowers  as  were  out  in  her  gar- 
den. The  village  children  were  far  more  concerned 
in  the  matter  of  dress  than  Mistress  Judith.  They 
were  getting  new  bibs  and  tuckers,  new  ribbons  in 
their  hats,  and  all  manner  of  innocent  conceits.  For 
if  ever  there  was  to  be  a  great  day  in  Haslington, 
it  would  be  the  day  that  joined  the  two  families  at 
the  Rectory  and  Trotter's  End. 

While  she  sat  hemming,  talking  fitfully  to  Master 
Hurst,  and  thinking  of  Jesse  and  her  new  life,  Mistress 
Judith  was  on  the  look-out  too  for  her  father,  who 
had  gone  to  fetch  IMistress  Bullen  in  the  pony-chaise, 


OF    THE    SKY. 


and  was  then  to  pick  her  up  at  the  Rectory  gate.  She 
had  got  her  purse  with  fifty  fat  sovereigns  in  it  : 
never  had  she  been  so  rich  and  never  so  happy 
before.  "When  I'm  married,  I'll  tell  father  howl 
was  betrothed  to  Jesse  those  weeks  before  he  told  our 
secret,"  said  Mistress  Judith,  who  still  thought  some- 
times, with  a  pang,  of  tliat  untold  tale.  But  now  she 
could  think  of  it  almost  without  a  pang — "  when  I  'm 
married"  seemed  a  cure  for  all  ills.  Everything 
would  be  well  when  only  she  was  married.  So  she 
felt  in  her  purse  for  the  fifty  fat  sovereigns  that  were 
to  be  spent  on  clothes,  and  seemed  so  unspendable. 
How  could  she  possibly  spend  fifty  pounds  ? 

The  hot  sun  kept  pouring  down  on  her  head  as 
she  sat  there  ;  the  tall  white  garden  lilies  growing  up 
about  her,  and  peas  and  honeysuckle  tumbling  over 
the  porch  and  paling,  and  scenting  all  the  air.  And 
there  were  Master  Hurst's  bees  booming  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  whirling  round  Judith's  head 
sometimes — bent  over  the  tucker — as  if  they  mistook 
her  for  a  flower. 

And  Master  Hurst  sat  beside  her,  lifting  his  stiff 
knees  now  and  then  with  very  feeble  hands,  and 
watching  the  small  fingers  that  plied  the  needle. 
Mistress  Judith  was  not  used  to  any  work  but  knit- 
ting.    She  had  no  patience  for  slow^  sewing :  and  her 


THE    CLOUDING 


lips  pouted  a  little  now  and  then  over  her  task.  Un- 
bearable task  it  would  have  been,  but  that  the  tucker 
was  going  into  a  gown  that  Jesse  would  see — a  gown 
that  she  would  not  wear  till  she  was  a  proud  matron. 
She  had  no  sun-bonnet  on  ;  Ruth  had  said  she  must 
not  go  to  Cambridge  in  a  sun-bonnet:  so  the  sun  felt 
hot  enough  in  Master  Hurst's  garden. 

At  last  she  heard,  not  wheels,  but  a  step  at  the 
garden  gate.  She  started  up  when  she  saw  her 
father's  face.  There  was  something  in  it  that  fright- 
ened her. 

"  What  is  it,  father  .?     Is  Jesse " 


"  Come  here,  my  dear,"  said  the  Parson  ;  "Jesse  is 
well  enough.  But  you  cannot  go  to  Cambridge  to- 
day." 

"  Oh,  father — have  you  lost  money  ?  I  can  do  with 
much  less  than  fifty  pounds — here,  take  it  again, 
father." 

"No,  no."  he  answered  ;  but  Judith  saw  the  distress 
upon  his  face  as  they  went  into  the  house  together. 
The  hall  was  dark  and  shadowy  after  the  hot  bright 
sun  outside.  Mistress  Judith  stopped  upon  the  thres- 
hold, not  liking  the  shadows  and  the  chill.  But  she 
had  to  follow,  to  hear  the  tidings  whatever  they  might 
be.  She  did  not  care  very  much,  now  that  she  knew 
all  was  well  with  Jesse.      And  yet  it  seemed  to  her 


OF    THE    SKY.  293 

that  her  life  had  taken  a  turn  just  then :  that 
never  again  would  -she  sit  in  the  full  sun  of  happi- 
ness. 

"What  is  it,  father  ?"  she  asked  ;  "why  can't  we  go 
to  Cambridge  ? " 

"  Because  Mistress  Bullen  is  engaged  elsewhere. 
She  is  making  a  move  from  Trotter's  End  to-day. 
She  will  want  my  carriage." 

"Amove.-'"  Judith  stood  aghast,  and  the  tucker 
fell  from  her  fingers  on  to  the  window  seat.  "  Is 
Jesse  going  to  live  there  then, — are  we  to  live  there 
— do  you  think,  father,  after  the  marriage  .-• " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  Parson,  standing  in  the  other 
window  with  his  back  turned. 

Judith  ran  across  the  room  and  threw  herself  be- 
tween him  and  the  roses  he  was  staring  at. 

"  Oh,  father,  tell  me  the  truth !  why  is  your  voice 
like  that  .'*  what  is  the  matter,  father  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  what,"  said  he  solemnly,  "  only  I 
fear  something  is  wrong,  Judith.  I  must  write  to 
Jesse  and  see  what  can  be  done.  I  must  understand 
this — I  must  understand  this,  Jesse  never  took  a 
step  like  this  before  without  telling  me.  Poor  thing, 
poor  thing!  A  bailiff  coming  in  to  manage  the  farm 
and  turning  her  out.  See  that  she  is  comfortable, 
Judith — she  is  coming  here  to-day." 


294  THE    CLOUDING 

But  Judith  had  sunk  down  in  a  chair,  and  was 
watching  her  father  silently  with  a  white  face. 

"  You  '11  put  it  right,  father  ?  You  don't  doubt 
Jesse  ?     Oh,  don't  doubt  him,  father  !" 

But  the  Parson  did  not  answer,  He  was  writing  to 
Jesse. 

That  evening,  calm  and  patient  as  ever.  Mistress 
Bullen  came  down  in  the  Parson's  pony-chaise  to  the 
Rectory.  But  before  she  came  all  Haslington  knew 
that  Jesse  had  put  in  a  strange  farm  manager  at 
Trotter's  End  ;  and  that  he  "  hadn't  behaved  right  " 
by  Mistress  Bullen. 

Mother  and  betrothed  kept  up  appearances  and 
courage  as  best  they  might  before  the  Parson.  A 
letter  from  Jesse  saying  the  arrangement  was  only  for 
a  time,  and  apologizing  for  the  inconvenience  he  must 
have  given  his  mother,  helped  them  not  a  little.  It 
was  not  satisfactory,  but  it  w^as  something. 

But  when  night  came,  and  Judith  was  kissing 
Jesse's  mother  at  the  door  of  her  own  room,  the 
pent-up  tears  burst  forth. 

"  Let  me  call  you  mother,  because  you  are  Jesse's ! 
I  never  knew  mine,"  said  Judith,  sobbing  on  Mistress 
BuUen's  shoulder.  "And  oh — do  you  think  we  shall 
be  married  on  Thursday  week .''  Do  you  think  any- 
thing is  coming  between  me  and  Jesse  ?" 


OF    THE    SKY.  295 

Mistress  Bullen  steadied  her  voice,  put  her  arms 
round  Judith,  and  made  answer  bravely — 

"God  knows,  dear  heart— God  knows.  If  your 
love  is  true,  nothing  can  come  between  you.  This  is 
only  a  cloud,  I  hope— only  a  cloud,  dear  heart." 

"It  is  true!"  said  Judith,  "  it  is  true!  nothing  shall 
come  between  us.  But  you  '11  stay  with  me  for  a 
little,  won't  you.?  Do  stay!  I  can't  go  to  sleep," 
said  she,  looking  at  her  bed.  "  I  shall  only  have  bad 
dreams  and  wake  up  frightened." 

So  Mistress  Bullen  stayed.  And  before  she  left, 
Mistress  Judith's  pale  face  was  laid  away  in  sleep,  and 
her  hand  was  put  down  softly  by  Mistress  Bullen,  who 
had  held  it. 

It  did  not  please  Haslington  folk  well  that  that 
night  Paxton  Dick  went  up  to  Trotter's  End  and 
paid  a  visit  to  the  manager.  If  Paxton  Dick  had  a 
finger  in  that  pie,  it  must  be  of  very  evil  cooking. 

And*  Paxton  Dick  had  a  finger  in  it.  He  had  done 
a  deal  of  work,  paid  off  one  or  two  old  debts  hand- 
somely. He  grinned  as  he  walked  up  to  Trotter's 
End,  thinking  how  Amos  had  been  baulked  ot  his  fair 
prize  by  just  a  little  judicious  intervention.  Amos 
had  said  a  nasty  word  or  two  to  Paxton  Dick  :  now 
they  were  quits. 

But   the    Parson   had    to    be    paid    out    too.     The 


296  THE    CLOUDING    OF    THE    SKY. 

irons  were  in  the  fire.  The  first  thorn  had  been 
planted. 

And  if  Jesse  must  be  sacrificed  with  the  Parson, 
why  that  could  not  be  helped.  He  had  had  a  run  of 
luck  :   now  his  star  was  not  quite  in  the  ascendant. 

But  how  could  the  Parson — that  idle,  popular,  calm 
Parson — be  better  touched  than  through  Jesse? 

And  moreover  Jesse's  money,  if  it  left  his  pockets, 
flowed  into  channels  that  wanted  it  now. 

Paxton  Dick  chinked  it  in  his  trousers  pockets  as 
he  went  up  the  hill  to  spend  his  first  evening  at  Trot- 
ter's End. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

HARVESTING    AGAIN. 

EVER  had  gloomier  days  been  at  Haslington 
than  these  of  hot  bright  harvest.  The  sun 
shone,  the  corn  turned  into  gold,  the  heavy  sheaves 
fell. under  the  scythe,  and  the  carts  went  to  and  fro, 
while  the  trees  snatched  up  their  fringes  from  the 
wains,  and  adorned  themselves^  as  if  all  was  well. 

But  Haslington  folk  knew  otherwise.  No  Bullens 
ruled  now  at  the  farm.  All  traces  of  the  old*  rule 
seemed  swept  away.  Mistress  Bullen's  sad  face  looked 
out  of  the  Rectory  windows,  but  Mistress  Judith's 
looked  out  seldom  or  never.  It  was  a  week  past  the 
wedding  day,  and  there  was  no  talk  of  any  wedding 
now. 

It  was  natural  after  the  first  outburst  of  sympathy 
with  Mistress  Bullen  and  Mistress  Judith,  and  the 
first  laments  over  the  old  family  that  seemed  so  sud- 
denly to  have  come  to  ruin,  that  Haslington  folk 
should  turn  their  thoughts  to  the  practical  aspect  of  the 
case,  to  its  eflect  upon  them  and  their  prospects. 


298  HARVESTING    AGAIN. 

"  The  flies  is  very  battering,"  one  would  say  grumbl- 
ingly,  as  they  gleaned  together. 

"  Ay — and  the  hot  days — them  and  the  flies  be 
very  terrifying  to  the  children,  they  be.  Let  alone 
that  there  bean't  no  gleanin'  not  to  speak  of — not 
worth  folks'  while  to  break  their  backs  for  sich  as 
this." 

"  Not 's  much  as  ud  kiver  a  'alf-crown,"  said  another. 
"  And  no  gleanin'  not  to  speak  of  Things  was  never 
this  way  before,  was  they,  ]\Iistress  Gadd  .''" 

"Not  in  my  time — never  at  Trotter's  End.  Not  so 
much  as  one  field  o'  beans  left  for  poor  folk,  what 
with  the  'chining  and  raking  and  what  not." 

"  And  so  light  in  the  ear,  Mistress  Gadd,  bean't 
it  ? "  ' 

"  Ay,  ay — but  I  be  loight  o'  hearing,  neighbour, — 
you  needn't  speak  so  loud.  Master  Amos,  his  time 
were  a  good  time  for  poor  iolk." 

"  lie  were  a  terrible  nice  gentleman  he  were,"  said 
another. 

"  How  be  I  heerd  tell  as  /le  took  to  'chines  and  sich 
like  while  he  were  in  furrin  parts,"  chimed  in  a  woman 
who  was  on  her  knees  t}-ing  up  her  bundle  in  its  piece 
of  sacking. 

"'Chines  or  no  'chines,"  said  Mistress  Hurst,  "he 
allows  hisn  to  be  gle'nt." 


HARVESTING    AGAIN.  299 

"  Hear  nothin'  now  concernin'  the  marriage  or  that, 
Mistress  Hurst?"  in  a  tone  of  inquiry. 

Mistress  Hurst  wiped  her  eyes  Avith  her  sacking, 
and  looked  mysterious,  while  she  sighed. 

•■'  Ast  no  kcstions  I  doan't,  and  doan't  want  to 
know  nothing.  Bean't  nought  o'  good  to  hear  as  I 
take  it." 

"  Young  missus,  she  be  a-losing  the  blee  off  her,  she 
be — niver  see  'er  out,  not  on  a  noice  day  nor  nothin' 
— keeps  to  herself  she  do,  and  doan't  trouble  no  'un 
she  doan't." 

•'  That'  s  right,  neighbour,  that 's  quite  right !  "  said 
a  younger  woman  emphatically.  "  Doan't  trouble  no 
one  she  doan't,  and  we  niver  see  her  not  this  four- 
teen days,  not  since  the  first  day  o'  harvest,  comin' 
about  the  doors  speaking  so  noice-like  and  genteel. 
'Well,  Mistress  Wib'dy,' say  she,  'that  be  a  noice 
gown,'  says  she  ;  '  I  moind  for  to  have  one  as  favours 
that  when  I  go  for  to  git  my  gowns,'  says  she." 

"  Poor  heart !  poor  heart !  "  said  several  in  a  kindly 
chorus  of  sympathy,  as  they  went  home  to  the  sound 
of  the  gleaning  bell. 

The  manager  of  the  farm  stood  at  the  gate  as  they 
passed  out.  Not  one  curtsey  was  dropped,  not  a  look 
except  of  contempt  and  anger  was  cast  upon  him. 
But  there  he  stood,  and  as  the  last  woman  passed  out. 


300  HARVESTING    AGAIN. 

he  took  a  key  from  his  pocket  and  locked  the  gate 
ostentatiously. 

As  the  long  procession  wound  down  the  village, 
they  were  not  blessings  that  were  wafted  back  to  him. 
He  smiled,  looked  round  him  for  a  moment ;  then 
went  into  an  adjoining  field,  where  the  men  were  still 
cutting,  and  called  for  the  nearest  hand. 

"  Take  two  sheaves  there — carry  them  into  the 
next  field,  and  then  fetch  two  more  and  put  them 
beside  them." 

"  The  women  they  be  a-going  to  glean  there  to- 
morrow, master,"  said  the  man  sulkily. 

"  They  won't  glean  there  to-morrow  now,  I  take  it. 
Carry  in  the  sheaves  there  I  tell  you." 

He  stayed  to  see  them  laid  down,  four  sheaves,  side 
by  side  in  the  middle  of  the  field.  Now  no  gleaner 
could  go  in  until  they  were  removed. 

Next  morning,  when  the  gleaning  bell  rang  at  seven 
o'clock,  and  mothers  and  children  hurried  up  to  wait 
for  each  other  at  the  gate  of  the  field  that  had  been 
all  "  carried  "  yesterday,  every  face  fell.  Four  sheaves 
lay  there  :  and  there  would  be  no  gleaning  to-day. 
No  wonder  poor  folk  at  Haslington  thought  these 
were  evil  times. 

Hardly  less  evil  was  it  to  the  Parson,  who  suft'ered 
for  his  people,  his  child,  and  himself 


.HARVKSTING    AGAIN.  30I 

He  had  written  to  Jesse,  and  Jesse's  answer  had 
been  unsatisfactory  and  shuffling.  All  would  be  well, 
he  could  not  explain  all  the  details  of  his  affairs  even 
to  the  Parson.  The  delay  in  the  marriage  he  cer- 
tainly should  have  thought  unnecessary  :  but  as  it 
happened  he  could  not  get  leave  at  the  time  they  had 
fixed  upon,  so  that  in  any  case  the  marriage  would 
have  been  postponed.  But  only  for  a  short  time,  said 
Jesse  ;    all  would  be  well. 

No  one  thou'^ht  all  would  be  well.     And  the  Par- 

o 

son's  heart  failed  him.  In  vain  he  tried  to  find  out 
the  position  held  by  the  new  bailiff  at  the  farm.  Was 
he  a  bailiff,  and  if  so  in  which  sense .''  The  Parson 
could  not  help  fearing  that  Jesse's  affairs  had  come  to 
such  a  pass,  that,  as  respectably  as  might  be,  he  had 
made  over  the  farm,  for  a  time  at  least,  to  his  credi- 
tors. It  was  bitter,  bitter  for  the  Parson  to  doubt  his 
lad.  But  little  by  little  doubt  had  forced  itself  upon 
him. 

And  the  thing  that  pained  him  most  was  that,  des- 
pite all  his  entreaties,  his  lad  would  not  confess  the 
worst,  would  not  say  what  his  debts  were,  would  not 
put  the  whole  thing  into  his  (the  Parson's)  hands — 
nay,  would  not  even  allow  that  he  was  involved  at  all. 

"  Lad,"  wrote  the  Parson — "  nothing  shall  go  amiss 
with  you,  nothing  shall  come  between  you  and  Judith, 


302  HARVESTING    AGAIN. 

save  a  reasonable  delay.     Only  you  must  tell  me  the 
whole  truth,  lad,  and  leave  it  all  to  me." 

And  when  the  Parson  wrote  that,  he  meant  that 
neither  time  nor  trouble  nor  money  should  be  spared, 
if  only  Jesse,  his  dear  dear  lad,  could  be  brought 
through. 

"  If  there  is  no  plain  answer  to  this  letter,"  said  the 
Parson  to  hhnself,  "  I  shall  go  to  Dublin." 

Instead  of  no  plain  answer  came  this  time  no 
answer  at  all. 

And  so,  worn  and  harassed,  but  keeping  up  ap- 
pearances lest  people  should  ever  think  he  doubted 
his  lad,  one  hot  day  he  set  out  in  the  pony-chaise 
from  Haslington. 

Only  Mistress  Bullen  and  Judith  knew  that  he  had 
gone  to  see  Jesse. 

And  they  looked  after  him  wistfully  with  wan  faces 
from  the  window. 

Now  they  would  soon  know  everything  ;  and  that 
would  be  well.  Anything  would  be  better  than  this 
long  uncertainty. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

MASTER   HURST   GOES. 

O  the  Parson  went  to  Dublin.  And  it  seemed  to 
the  two  women  waiting  at  the  Rectory,  that 
there  was  nothing  left  but  that  for  them — to  wait. 

But  God  willed  otherwise.  And  the  morning  after 
her  father  had  gone,  Judith  was  called  to  what  was 
to  be  the  death-bed  of  ISIaster  Plurst. 

When  she  heard  the  news  it  startled  her  out  of  a 
heavy  morning  sleep  :  for  very  late  the  night  before 
she  had  sat  up  brooding  over  the  fire  alone.  They 
could  not  talk  together  that  night,  she  and  Mistress 
Bullen :  it  was  a  great  pause  of  silence,  in  which 
they  could  listen  for  tidings,  nothing  more.  Talking 
bettered  nothing :  every  surmise  was  painful :  and 
they  could  only  hope  and  pray. 

"Master  Hurst  had  been  took,"  said  Ruth,  "took 
in  the  night.  He  could  not  speak  clearly,  but  the 
neighbours  thought  he  was  asking  for  his  '  blessed 
lady.'  Would  she  mind  the  liberty  they  took  in 
sending  for  her  .^     Would  she  come  .''" 


304  MASTER    HURST    GOES. 

Of  course  the  blessed  lady  would  come.  She  sprang 
up,  though  her  weary  face  and  heavy  eyes  ill  accorded 
with  the  quickness  of  her  movements.  And  very  soon 
she  was  at  Master  Hurst's  bedside. 

There  sat  Mistress  Hurst,  all  the  hard  expression 
passed  away  from  her  face,  crying  copiously,  in  the 
arm-chair  by  the  fire.  And  on  his  bed,  quite  motion- 
less, lay  Master  Hurst. 

When  he  heard  Judith's  step,  and  felt  her  shadow 
over  him,  he  tried  to  turn  his  head,  but  failed.  Only 
the  dimmed  eagle-eyes  turned,  dimmer  than  ever,  and 
rested  on  her. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  to  see  you  so,"  said  Mistress  Judith, 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and  leaning  over 
him,  while  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  Tears  were  very 
close  at  hand  now  for  Judith. 

"Don't  speak,"  she  said,  "don't  speak!"  seeing 
his  lips  moved  ;  and  she  drew  the  curtain  aside  and 
looked  at  him.  His  face  was  drawn  on  one  side, 
and  no  more  than  a  vague  sound  escaped  him  as  he 
tried  to  answer  her.  It  was  a  terribly  sudden  change, 
since  the  last  day  she  had  seen  him,  bright  and  cheery, 
sitting  under  his  vine,  watching  the  grapes  ripen  and 
the  bees  boom  past. 

"Are  }'Ou  happy.?"  asked  she,  presently,  seeing 
it  was  no  use  to  talk  to  him  now  of  recovery  as  she 


MASTER    HURST    GOES.  JOy 

had  so  often  done  before.     "  Are  you  happy,  Master 
Hurst.?" 

His  eyes  flooded  with  a  quiet  sunshine ;  he  tried 
to  move  his  head  in  feeble  assent. 

"  I  see  you  are,"  said  Judith.  "  God  takes  care 
of  you.  You  aren't  sorry  to  go  away  to  Heaven, 
Master  Hurst  ?  No ;  I  know  you  aren't  sorry.  I 
understand.^  Jesus  will  take  you  there  safely — through 
the  dark  valley." 

He  was  lying  motionless  again,  as  if  the  power  of 
hearing  had  left  him.     Judith  turned  to  his  wife. 

"  He  is  very  happy,  Mistress  Hurst ;  you  must 
think  of  that — he  is  thinking  about  going  to  Heaven 
already." 

"  I  wish  as  I  did  know,"  sobbed  the  poor  woman, 
rocking  herself  over  the  empty  grate,  and  holding  her 
apron  over  her  face.  "  I  wish  as  I  did  know  what  'e 
thinks.  I  ast  him,  and  ast  him,  but  he  doan't  not 
say  nothing,  not  to  me.  I  'm  sure  I  done  all  as  I 
could,  I  done — tells  him,  I  did,  as  how  we  must  be 
sorry  for  our  sins,  and  that,  and  all  about  the  conse- 
kences  of  sin,  and  that.  But  whether  he  be  right  or 
wrong  I  doan't  know.  I  done  all  I  can,  I  done,  ye 
see,  and  I  can't  not  do  no  more,  I  can't." 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  sorry  for  his  sins,"  said  Mistress 
Judith  ;  "  and  I  think  it 's  time  now  to  comfort  him, 

U 


3o6  MASTER    HURST    GOES. 

telling  him  about  where  he  is  going  to.  The  time  is 
past  for  telling  him  about  the  consequences  of  sin : 
don't  you  think  so,  i\Iistress  Hurst?  Shall  we  pray- 
by  him?     Come  and  pray  beside  him  together." 

So  they  knelt  down,  the  sobbing  woman,  in  her 
threadbare  gown,  burying  her  head  in  the  patchwork 
quilt  that  covered  Master  Hurst,  the  slim  girlish 
figure  of  the  girl  beside  her,  resting  her.  head  with 
its  crown  of  soft  hair  upon  her  hands,  and  both 
pra}-ing  silently. 

Presently  Judith  stood  up  and  looked  at  him. 

"  He  would  understand,"  said  she.  "  Is  there  any 
prayer  you  know,  IMaster  Hurst,  that  I  could  say  for 
you  ? 

But  he  could  not  answer,  and  so  aloud  she  prayed 
for  him,  while  Mistress  Hurst  sobbed  on. 

"  Into  the  dark  valley  take  him !  Out  of  this 
troublesome  world,  dear  Lord,  take  him  !  Out  of  the 
dark  valley,  up  the  stair  of  Heaven,  into  thy  Pres- 
ence, O  Father,  take  him !  And  soon  let  us  all 
follow  him.     Amen." 

But  it  was  two  days  after  this  that  the  dark  valley 
opened  and  the  walk  down  it  began. 

Mistress  Judith  was  again  beside  him.  He  had 
never  spoken  since  the  stroke  seized  him,  and  they 
had  given  up  hoping  for  words.     The  power  of  swal- 


MASTER    HURST    GOES.  307 

lowing  had  become  so  feeble,  that  hardly  anything 
would  pass  his  lips  :  and  now  he  had  been  three  days 
almost  without  food. 

It  was  drawing  on  to  evening,  and  Mistress  Judith 
was  standing  at  the  window  watching  the  sun  through 
the  pollards  at  the  Farm. 

She  was  thinking  how  good  it  might  perhaps  be 
could  she  take  Master  Hurst's  place,  give  him  her  life, 
and  pass  away  before  the  evening.  Two  days  before 
her  thoughts  would  have  been  far  otherwise ;  for  then 
she  had  still  had  hope.  But  now  three  days  had 
passed  and  no  message  had  come  from  Dublin.  If 
all  had  been  well,  or  better  than  they  feared,  her 
father  had  promised  to  telegraph.  And  no  telegram 
had  come.  Judith  had  a  presentiment  that  none  would 
come;  that  a  great  darkness  would  follow  upon  this 
twilight. 

And  so,  with  the  intensity  of  her  nature,  she  had 
opened  her  arms  already  for  a  great  grief  And  only 
because  there  was  a  great  uncertainty,  and  a  possible 
blow,  she  was  ready  to  give  up  life,  with  all  its  trea- 
sures, only  to  be  rid  for  ever  of  its  ills.  And  then 
heaven  was  a  reality  to  Mistress  Judith.  She  had 
no  more  fear  of  dying  just  then  than  of  falling 
asleep. 

It  was   a  faintly  spoken  word  that  called   her  to 


3o8  MASTER    HURST    GOES. 

herself  and  to  Master  Hurst.  As  she  stood  beside 
him,  the  words  grew  clearer. 

"  You  can  speak  ?  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  You  may 
get  better  still  !" 

He  shook  his  head,  and  lifted  up  his  thin  hand, 
the  only  one  that  he  could  move,  as  if  to  pray. 
Then  he  looked  at  his  other — a  hand  of  stone  now — 
beseechingly. 

"  Shall  I  lift  it  ?  so .-'  Now  you  want  to  pray. 
Will  you  sa}'  '  Our  Father  ?'  " 

"  Our  Father,''  he  began  tremblingly,  and  then  tears 
like  an  infant's  rained  over  his  withered  cheeks,  as 
word  by  word  he  said  it  all,  with  thick  uncertain 
utterance. 

"  Is  there  anything  else.''"  said  Judith,  still  holding 
the  cold  hands  together  upon  his  heart.  He  nodded 
assent :  and  presently  began  to  pray. 

"  Suffer  us  not — dear  Lord — to  fall  awa}" — through 
vain  and  foolish  customs  of  the  world." 

Then,  without  pausing,  the  Belief 

'•'  I  b"lie\-c  in  God  the  Father  o'  the  Allmighties," 
he  began.  And  Judith,  seeing  that  his  strength 
ebbed  and  that  the  words  carried  little  meaning  to 
him  now,  stopped  him  gently. 

"  Is  there  nothing  else .''"  said  she.  "  You  have  not 
got  much  longer  time.     Jesus  is  soon  ccming  to  take 


MASTER    HURST    GOES.  3°9 

you,  Master  Hurst.      Is  there  nothing  else   you  would 

like  to  say  .''" 

He   motioned  that  his  hands   should  be    held   to- 
gether ac^ain  :  and  then  repeated  firmly — 

"  When  now  I  lays  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep  ; 
And  if  I  die  afore  I  wake, 
I  pray  'ee,  Lord,  my  soul  to  take.     Amen." 

The  Angels  in  Heaven  said  "  Amen."  For  when 
Mistress  Judith  laid  down  his  hands  upon  his  heart, 
Master  Hurst  was  dead. 

And  Mistress  Hurst,  wiping  her  eyes,  ran  out  to 
"  tell  the  bees." 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

THE   BLOW   FALLS, 

AND  this  was  the  news  that  the  Parson  heard 
when  he  got  home,  from  village  folk  who 
stopped  him  on  the  way. 

"  Poor  child,  poor  child  !"  said  the  Parson,  thinking 
what  evil  tidings  he  had  brought  her,  as  if  the  death 
of  Master  Hurst  had  not  been  pain  enough.  She 
had  never  been  used  to  pain  had  Mistress  Judith. 
It  never  seemed  natural  that  it  should  come  to  her. 

The  Parson  hated  scenes.  And  in  all  his  own  sore 
trouble  and  perplexity,  the  thought  of  the  outburst 
of  grief  that  would  greet  him,  held  its  place.  How 
should  he  tell  them  ?  how  would  it  be  best  said  ? 
What  should  he  do  when  both  women  broke  down 
together,  and  he  could  not  comfort  them  .■' 

But  he  need  not  have  feared.  For  in  the  first  place, 
they  read  ill  tidings  in  his  face.  In  the  second,  there 
was  no  outburst  of  grief  at  all.  Mistress  Bullen  cried 
silently,  while  Judith  did  not  cry  at  all. 

She  had  been  bearing  the  blow  little  by  little  these 


THE     BLOW    FALLS.  3II 

last  few  days.     It  hardly  startled  her  that  the  Parson 
came  back  without  seeing'  Jesse;  that  Jesse  had  left- 
Dublin,  without  leave,  without  word  or  message,  even 
to  her. 

It  was  well  she  did  not  break  down  under  this 
blow :  for  that  something  heavier  must  come  was 
certain. 

And  thev  had  not  Ions;'  to  wait  for  it.  This  was 
the  way  the  news  came  at  length. 

The  Parson  left  orders  for  Jesse's  letters  to  be  sent 
to  him  from  Dublin.  In  the  course  of  a  few  days  one 
arrived,  and  the  Parson  opened  it.  Now  the  liabili- 
ties might  be  known  at  last.  All  might  be  well 
still ;  for  if  only  the  Parson  knew  the  amount,  what 
sacrifice  would  he  not  make  to  save  Jesse .'  Selling 
Trotter's  End  would  be  nothing-  if  the  lad  could  be 
cleared,  and  set  on  his  feet  again.  And  after  all 
debt  was  not  so  bad  a  thing  for  a  young  man,  said 
the  Parson,  who  had  never  owed  a  penny  in  his  life. 
He  began  to  think,  as  he  opened  the  letter,  that  he 
had  been  unnecessarily  troubled  about  Jesse. 

This  was  the  letter — 

"Dear  Jesse — I  do  not  see  Avhat  I  can  do  in 
reply  to  your  letter,  but  give  you  such  advice  as  I 
should  wish  to  act  upon  myself  Undo  the  false 
step  you  have  taken  before  it  can  be  undone  for  you 


THK     BLOW     FALLS. 


by  the  rascal  into  whose  hands  you  have  placed 
yourself.  The  blow  certainly  hit  me  hard,  though 
it  is  not  the  first  I  have  had  at  your  hand.  You  '11 
forgive  me  if  I  write  bitterly,  seeing  I  am  human 
enough  not  to  have  forgotten  that  as  easily  as  you  do. 

"  This  is  not  the  time  for  reproaches,  and  especially, 
since  you  have  told  me  your  difficulties,  I  ought  to 
be  silent,  save  where  I  can  help  you. 

"  I  wish  yours  were  a  common  debt,  that  any  pay- 
ment of  mine  could  set  at  rest  and  keep  dark.  As 
it  is,  nothing  but  telling  the  whole  truth,  and  resign- 
ing your  commission,  can  save  you.  Sooner  or  later 
that  scamp  who  personated  you  at  the  examination 
will  give  tongue  ;  in  the  meantime  he  is  sucking  your 
blood,  and  ruining  you,  and  the  old  place. 

"  It  is  very  little  I  can  do  for  you.  A  few  months 
ago  I  could  have  done  less.  I  was  fool  enough  then 
to  think  some  one  else's  concerns  were  my  own,  and 
then  I  should  have  thought  a  long  while  before  I 
opened  my  purse  to  you. 

"  But  now  money  is  nothing"  to  me.  I  've  got  no 
home  to  look  forward  to,  and  you  have.  So  take  this 
four  hundred  pounds,  and  do  what  you  will  with  it — 
only  for  God's  sake  make  her  happy.  Lad,  don't  keep 
silence  any  longer:  you  owe  it  to  your  soul,  to  the 
Parson,  and  most  of  all  to  her,  to  speak  out. 


THE     BLrnV     FALLS.  313 

"I  am  writing  to  my  mother,  or  rather  I  '11  do  so 
from  Liverpool  in  a  few  days,  to  tell  her  I  'm  going  to 
begin  life  in  a  new  country.  Take  care  of  her  till  I 
come  back,  and  let  bygones  be  bygones. — Your  affec- 
tionate Amos  Bullion." 

Turning  it  backwards  and  forwards  in  his  hands, 
backwards  and  forwards,  sat  Parson  Ingrey  with  the 
letter  in  his  hand. 

This  letter  from  Amos,  illiterate,  dull,  cloddish 
Amos,  who  never  got  half  through  the  "Delectus!" 
This  letter  to  Jesse,  his  lad — his  dear  lad  whom  he 
trusted — this  was  to  him  ! 

The  Parson  could  not  tell  how  long  he  sat  there, 
turning  the  letter  to  and  fro,  and  staring  at  the 
window,  past  which  the  first  yellow  leaf  of  autumn 
was  flying.  Only  it  must  have  been  a  long  time 
surely  ;  for  when  he  turned  away  Parson  Ingrey  was 
a  much  older  man. 

That  same  day,  by  the  same  post,  came  a  letter 
from  Amos,  confirming  what  his  letter  to  Jesse  had 
said.  He  had  gone  to  a  new  country  to  begin  a  new 
life.  He  would  come  back  after  a  year  or  two,  and 
then  he  and  his  mother  would  live  together.  It  was 
a  cheery,  bright  letter ;  such  as  Amos  would  have 
written  to  his  mother,  if  heaven  and  earth  were  beine 
torn  from  under  him.     And  he  said  nothincf  of  the 


314  THE    BLOW     FALLS. 

reason  of  his  having  to  begin  a  new  Hfe,  nothing  of 
the  four  hundred  pounds  he  had  sent  to  Jesse. 

Poor  Amos,  who  thought  this  would  set  all  things 
right — in  whose  eyes  four  hundred  pounds  meant 
such  great  things,  and  in  whose  hands  they  would 
have  been  turned  to  great  things,  if  that  blight  had 
not  fallen  five  months  ago. 

"I  'm  not  generous,"  said  Amos  as  he  closed  his 
letter — "I  only  give  to  you,  lad,  when  it's  turned  to 
dross  for  me." 

Every  day  now  seemed  to  bring  bad  tidings  ;  every 
post  was  to  be  dreaded.  Life  in  Haslington  had 
changed,  and  sad  or  troubled  looks  were  to  be  seen  on 
every  side.  The  very  next  day  after  Amos'  letters, 
came  one  which  clenched  the  whole  affair. 

Mr.  Crisp,  attorney  of  Cambridge  or  the  neighbour- 
hood, had  given  information  at  the  Horse  Guards 
that  Jesse  Bullen  had  never  passed  the  examination 
at  Chelsea  Hospital  last  spring.  And  Mr.  Crisp  had 
little  difficulty  in  making  his  statement  good,  seeing 
that  he  could  prove  that  he  himself,  John  Crisp,  had 
undeitaken  to  represent  Jesse  Bullen,  and  had  so 
done,  passing  fourth  upon  the  list  of  names. 

When  asked  by  certain  curious  persons  what  his 
reasons  had  been  for  ruining  a  young  man  at  the 
outset  of  life,  Mr.   Crisp  had   replied  that  he   did  not 


THE    BLOW    FALLS.  315 

mind  allowing  that  his  reasons  were  pecuniary.  He 
had  laid  Mr.  Bullen  under  great  obligations  to  him- 
self, and  naturally  Mr.  Bullen  became  his  debtor.  It 
was  a  matter  quite  between  Mr.  Bullen  and  himself. 

Immediately  afterwards  it  was  publicly  notified 
that  Jesse  Bullen  was  cashiered.  Mr.  Crisp  withdrew 
himself  from  the  scene.  No  word  or  message  came 
from  Jesse. 

Over  Haslington  folk,  and  the  Rectory  most  of  all, 
there  fell  a  heavy  gloom.  And  so  began  the  short 
da}'s  and  the  long  evenings  of  another  winter. 

The  .bailiff  was  turned  out  of  Trotter's  End,  but 
only  that  the  farm  might  be  let.  And  over  all  these 
doings  and  uphcavings  Paxton  Dick  feigned  great 
surprise. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

now  THE  "blee"  went. 

UT  folk  at  Haslington  were  not  to  be  taken  in 
so  easily.  Sundry  little  signs  of  increasing 
prosperity  in  Paxton  Dick's  way  of  living,  helped  to 
confirm  their  suspicions  that  he  had  done  his  best  to 
assist  the  downfall  of  Gentleman  Bullen.  They  all 
knew  his  spite  to  the  Parson  and  to  Amos  ;  and  the 
idea  of  revenging  himself  on  both  would  have  been 
reward  enough,  they  knew,  to  his  ill  nature,  without 
the  increase  of  income  which  they  were  sure  he  had 
derived  from  it.  Two  or  three  of  the  village  men  set 
to  work  to  trace  the  steps  Paxton  Dick  had  taken  in 
the  matter  :  and  they  had  plenty  of  ground  to  go 
upon,  for  the  hawker  had  been  seen  a  great  deal  in 
Master  Bullen's  company  of  late,  had  given  him  a 
letter  or  letters,  had  gone  to  Cambridge  oftener  than 
was  necessary,  and  was  good  friends  with  the  bailiff 
at  the  farm.  Was  not  that  evidence  conclusive  to 
honest  Haslington  men  .''  But  they  waited  a  while  to 
make  certainty  sure,  and  to  see  how  best  they  could 
pay  out  the  hawker. 


3-'7 


Meantime  all  hearts  grew  sad,  seeing  the  changed 
face  of  Mistress  Judith.  She  came  to  church  as 
before,  sat  in  the  great  pew  beside  the  pulpit,  lifted 
up  her  voice  in  the  singing. 

But  it  was  a  white  white  face  now.  It  was  true 
enough  that  the  "  blee  "  had  gone  from  it,  as  simple 
folks  said. 

And  children  in  the  choir  noticed  that  when  sad 
hymns  came,  the  face  went  down,  and  only  the  white 
forehead,  with  the  fair  hair  drawn  back  from  it, 
showed  above  the  pew.  And  then  a  very  sweet  bell 
in  that  peal  of  young  voices  failed  :  and  Mr.  Cocks 
behind  the  barrel  organ  missed  it,  but  neither  looked 
up  nor  wondered. 

Master  Hurst  was  laid  away  in  the  grave,  and  no 
white  head  looked  out  across  at  the  lattice  window. 
And  soon  the  ground  was  carpeted  with  leaves, 
yellow  and  red  damp  leaves  from  the  bare  poplars. 
And  then  the  snow  began  to  fall  slowly  and  softly, 
and  before  Christmas  all  the  ground  was  hidden  away 
like  Master  Hurst. 

Every  one  wondered  who  would  "  set  out "  the 
church  this  Christmas.  No  Gentlemen  Bullen  now, 
no  Master  Amos.  Only  Mistress  Judith  :  and  would 
she  do  it  this  year  .-* 

Mistress  Judith  would  do  it.     It  was  sore  enough 


3l8  HOW    THE    "BLEE"     WENT. 

for  her  standing  there  with  school-children  and  Mr. 
Cocks  to  help  her,  where  last  year  Jesse  had  been. 
Tying  garlands  round  the  same  pillars,  using  the  very 
ropes  his  hands  had  tied  and  twisted.  And  then 
how  meaningless  it  was  now  :  decorating  meant  joy, 
and  there  was  no  joy  this  Christmas  :  this  cold,  bleak, 
silent,  pitiful  Christmas. 

But  after  a  while  Mistress  Judith  blamed  herself 
greatly.  Christmas  joy  had  nothing  to  do  with  her 
joys  and  sorrows.  "  Christ  came  for  all  the  world, 
not  for  her  only.  There  would  be  joy  in  Heaven 
to-morrow,  on  His  birthday,  however  sore  her  heart 
might  be. 

But  this  did  not  comfort  her.  It  Avas  not  till 
Mistress  Bullen,  reading  the  sorrow  in  her  eyes,  and 
chafing  her  hands  when  she  came  back  from  the  cold 
church  to  the  study  fire,  spoke  to  her  of  it,  that  she 
began  to  see  things  differently. 

"  Dear  heart,"  said  gentle  Mistress  Bullen,  "  Christ- 
mas has  come  very  sadly  to  you.  But  remember  He 
came  for  other  things  than  joy,  dear  heart — for  other 
things  than  joy."' 

"What  things.''"  asked  Judith  sadly,  looking  at 
the  fire. 

"  For  sinners,"  said  Mistress  Bullen,  and  then  she 
lowered  her  voice — "  for  such  as  him." 


low -THE    "BLEE"    WENl'  319 

Mistress  Judith  knelt  down  and  laid  her  head  on 
INIistress  Bullen's  lap.  That  was  true,  very  true. 
There  was  something  else  to  be  hoped  for  in  the 
world  than  only  joy.  She  was  doing  wrong  perhaps 
in  thinking  only  of  her  sorrow.  Christ  came  to  save 
sinners :  and  Jesse,  her  love,  was  one  of  these. 
Christmas  could  not  be  altogether  so  sad  a  time 
if  it  minded  her  how  Christ  could  save  Jesse. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  any  hope  had  come  to 
her  since  the  great  blow  fell.  So  utterly  stunning 
had  it  been  tliat  hope  had  been  crushed  out.  Jesse, 
untrue,  deceiving,  leading  a  false,  false  life.  Mistress 
Judith,  who  loathed  a  lie,  who  knew  nothing  meaner, 
more  cowardly  than  lying,  could  never  deceive  her- 
self, not  even  about  Jesse.  She  could  make  no  excuse 
for  him  :  if  she  had,  she  would  have  been  less 
true. 

But  in  all  the  sea  of  sorrow  there  was  one  raft  to 
which  she  clung.  Jesse  had  not  deceived  Jicr,  had 
loved  her  all  throu'di — nothinGT  unholv  or  dishonest 
had  come,  at  least,  athwart  their  love.  He  had  been 
her  one  love,  she  had  been  his.  He  was  gone  away, 
it  is  true,  and  had  never  written,  had  never  sent  her 
a  word  or  message.  But  that  was  only  for  a  while, 
only  while  the  shame  was  too  strong  upon  him. 
After  a  while  he  would  remember  her  promise,  how 


320  HOW    THE    "BLEE"    WENT. 

she  would  never  forsake  him,  come  what  miglit 
Then  he  would  come  back  to  her,  her  own  own  love, 
her  Jesse  :  a  sinner,  but  still  her  betrothed,  still  to  be 
her  husband  some  day  soon. 

With  true  woman's  instinct  she  turned  and  clungf 
to  him  now  more  passionately  than  ever.  If  others 
shunned  him,  then  all  the  more  he  needed  her.  If  he 
had  sinned,  then  all  the  more  he  needed  her. 

And  all  her  grief  (beyond  the  trouble  of  his  guilt) 
was  that  she  could  -  not  reach  him  now.  Where  to 
write  to  him,  to  send  to  him,  to  go  to  him — no  one 
knew. 

Only  heaven  and  earth  were  moved  to  find  him. 
By  the  newspapers,  by  agents,  by  inquiry  offices,  by 
letters  sent  aimlessly  to  Dublin,  to  post  offices  abroad: 
by  all  means  possible,  probable,  and  improbable  the 
Parson  tried  to  find  Jesse. 

At  length  Mistress  Judith  felt  certain  that  some 
letter  or  paper  must  have  reached  him.  He  might  be 
a  great  way  off;  she  must  allow  some  time  for  his 
journey.  But  Jesse  must  be  on  his  way  to  her.  He 
must  have  remembered  her  promise,  must  know  that 
she  at  least  was  true. 

Poor  little  Judith,  who  did  not  know  that  the  un- 
truthful doubt  truth  itself,  seeing  through  glasses 
darkly. 


HOW    THE    "BLEE"    WENT.  321 

But  hope  and  waiting  helped  the  long  winter  through. 
The  round  of  days,  Christmas,  Plough  Monday,  Valen- 
tine's Day,  went  by  ;  and  there  came  no  news  from 
Jesse. 

All  the  buds  filled  with  rising  sap,  and  the  snow 
melted  from  Judith's  rose-trees.  The  ivy  on  the 
church  shook  itself  in  the  March  winds,  and  snow- 
drops made  room  for  primroses.  And  very  soon  the 
cuckoo  came,  far-off,  crying  out  that  the  spring  was 
come. 

But  Mistress  Judith  looked  neither  at  the  rising 
sap  nor  at  the  roses  ;  and  the  cuckoo  meant  very 
little  in  her  ears,  who  used  to  love  the  coming  of 
the  spring  so  well. 

Out  and  in  of  the  cottages  she  went  all  the  day, 
for  sitting  at  home  had  become  unbearable.  Foul 
weather  or  fine  she  went,  went  early  and  stayed 
late. 

And  they  asked  her  no  questions,  those  simple  folk. 
Something  in  her  face  silenced  them  :  even  Mistress 
Hurst  kept  her  peace,  or  talked  of  her  dear  man  that 
was  gone,  and  not  of  Jesse  Bullen. 

And  when  she  came  home  late,  chilled  and  damp, 
but  always  still  and  patient,  Mistress  Bullen  would 
reproach  her  tenderly. 

"  I  will  take  care,"  said  Mistress  Judith,  "  I  will  take 

X 


322  HOW    THE    "bLEE"    WENT. 


care,  for  his  sake.  If  he  came  back  you  know  and 
found  me  ill,  it  would  never  do,  would  it  ?" 

At  which  Mistress  Bullen  would  keep  silence. 
Would  Judith  love  him  still,  if  he  came  back  }  would 
it  be  well  for  Judith  .-' 

The  next  day  she  would  try  and  take  the  counsel 
of  Jesse's  mother.  But  when  the  mail-boy  came  and 
brought  no  letter,  she  could  bide  no  longer  in  the 
gloomy  house. 

And  after  many  long  outings  and  many  chills.  Mis- 
tress Judith  was  used  to  bring  a  cough  home  with  her. 
Not  much,  only  it  troubled  her  a  little  in  the  night, 
and  broke  her  rest  a  little. 

And  fast,  fast,  the  "  blee  "  was  going  from  her. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

"  TIN-KETTLING." 

ALL  through  the  summer  it  was  the  same  thing. 
Waiting,  disappointment,  and  sorrow. 

One  Httle  event  took  place  that  made  considerable 
stir  in  Haslington  village.  But  no  rumour  of  it  came 
to  the  Parson,  who  sat  in  his  study  down-hearted  and 
absent  over  his  books,  and  noticed  nothing  unusual 
coming  through  the  night  air. 

Haslington  folk  could  stand  it  no  longer.  It  was 
all  very  well  for  the  Parson  to  preach  about  Christian 
charity,  but  it  was  said  somewhere  in  the  Bible  that 
the  ungodly  must  have  their  reward.  Some  one  must 
give  the  reward,  said  Haslington  folks:  it  was  not 
likely  that  the  Almighty  would  bestir  himself  about 
such  as  Paxton  Dick.  And  if  He  had  meant  to, 
they  had  given  Him  time  enough.  It  was  certain 
that  Haslington  folk  were  called  upon  to  punish  Pax- 
ton  Dick. 

"  The  Parson,  as  kerried  's  years  so  loightly,"  said 
one  of  the  ringleaders,  "  pulled  down,  spoilt-like,  ail 


324  TIN-KETTLING. 

the  heart  taken  out  of  him,  so  to  speak.  Mistress 
Judith,  why,  as  to  her — there  she  were,  sick-hke, 
favoured  a  ghost  more  than  a  body." 

"  So  she  be,"  said  another,  kicking  a  small  unripe 
apple  with  his  clumsy  foot.  "  There,  that  be  yours, 
Abraham,  bean't  it .''" 

"  Only  a  cas'alty  apple,"  was  the  answer  ;  but  the 
wife  who  spoke  stooped  down  and  put  it  in  her 
apron,  while  she  went  on  talking  about  Mistress 
Judith. 

"  Should  be  taken  keer  of,  she  should.  I  'd  make 
summit  as  'ud  set  her  right,  so  as  she  'd  tak  it.  I  've 
a  moind  to  ast  her,  I  have." 

"  There  be  that  bottle  as  the  gent  gave  you  for 
your  bad  foot ;  try  that  on,  won't  you .-' "  said  her 
husband,  with  a  laugh,  * 

"  Well,  and  moight  do  worse,  she  moight.  Beautiful 
rings  as  he  had  on  'is  fingers,  he  had,  and,  says  he, '  I 
see  well  enow  what  ails  yoii,'  says  he.  And  hed  his 
kerridge  and  all  standing  out  over  the  door,  and  says 
he " 

But  unceremoniously  the  husband  dragged  his  mate 
away,  for  there  were  to  be  great  doings  that  night. 

All  the  women  stood  at  their  doors  listening,  while 
twenty  or  more  stout  men,  in  smocks  and  corduroys, 
tramped  up  from  the  inn  towards  the  hawker's  cottage. 


TIN-KETTLING.  325 

Fifty  boys  or  so  swelled  the  train  as  they  went  up. 
One  or  two  women  more  curious  than  their  neigh- 
bours hung  about  the  outskirt  of  the  crowd,  carrying 
their  babies. 

Like  a  swarm  of  bees,  they  gathered  round  the 
doomed  door.  There  was  a  silence.  The  hawker's 
white  head  and  blear-eyes  showed  at  the  window. 

This  was  the  signal.  On  the  instant  an  unearthly 
noise  of  hooting,  cries,  and  beating  of  tin-kettles,  pails, 
pans,  anything,  was  struck  up. 

Nearly  an  hour  the  serenade  lasted.  But  no  face 
re-appeared  at  the  window. 

"  There  bean't  no  back  door,  be  there  .'* "  said  one 
of  the  men,  suddenly  struck  by  the  idea  that  the  wily 
hawker  had  escaped  them.  There  were  no  back  doors 
to  the  houses  on  a  line  with  Paxton  Dick's.  But  there 
was  no  saying  what  he  might  not  have  done  for 
himself 

There  was  a  loud  cry  when  a  lad  announced  lustily 
that  he  had  got  in  through  the  kitchen  window,  and 
that  in  the  same  way  the  hawker  must  have  got  out, 
for  the  house  was  empty. 

Then  they  gave  chase.  Like  a  hunted  hare  Pax- 
ton  Dick  dodged  and  doubled  all  up  the  Cambridge 
road.  But  fifty  honest  men  and  boys  were  a  match 
for  him. 


326  TIN-KETTLING. 

He  was  caught,  well  thrashed  by  the  stoutest  man 
of  the  party,  and  sent  out  of  Hashngton.  And  glad 
enough  he  was  to  escape  (his  pockets  being  well 
lined),  for  far  behind  him,  long  after  he  was  lost  to 
sight,  he  heard  the  noise  of  his  enemies'  uncouth 
cymbals. 

And  that  was  how  Paxton  D'cTc  was  "  tin-kettled" 
and  turned  out.  And  he  deserved  his  fate :  for  sure 
enough  he  had  brought  Jesse  Bullen  into  the  meshes 
of  Mr.  Crisp,  and  had  replenished  his  pockets  com- 
fortably. 

And  then,  as  before  said,  came  the  long  hot  sum- 
mer, which  brought  no  Jesse  and  no  tidings.  Amos 
wrote  sometimes  to  his  mother,  cheery  letters  always : 
but  as  yet  he  seemed  to  have  got  no  letter  from  her, 
and  he  knew  nothing  of  Jesse's  disappearance. 

Towards  autumn  there  came  a  letter  from  him  how- 
ever, saying  he  hoped  that  their  anxiety  was  over,  and 
that  Jesse  had  turned  up.  He  could  not  stay  away 
for  long,  that  was  certain,  said  Amos,  who  neverthe- 
less was  self- banished.  But  then  he  was  not  Jesse: 
he  was  not  betrothed  to  Mistress  Judith. 

The  Parson  had  his  four  hundred  pounds  safe,  and 
told  his  mother  to  tell  him  so.  And  in  time  he  sent 
his  message  of  thanks  back  again  :  and  hoped  by  this 
time  they  had  good  tidings  of  Jesse.     He  wished  the 


TIN-KETTLINa  327 

four  hundred  had  been  in  time  to  be  of  use:  but  no 
doubt  things  were  best  as  they  were,  bad  as  they 
seemed.  So  wrote  Amos  cheerfully  from  Austn'ia 
in  letters  that  took  three  months  to  come,  and  that 
Mistress  Bullen  read  in  the  quiet  of  her  own  room. 
For  none  but  she  cared  for  Amos,  her  darling,  her 
Benjamin:  she  and  God,  said  Mistress  Bullen,  think- 
ing of  how  he  had  been  kept  in  straight  paths  all 
through,  though  God  had  chastened  him.  She  knew 
now  why  he  had  to  begin  a  "new  life:"  she  knew 
how  he  had  repaid  good  for  evil  to  his  brother.  No 
wonder  she  brooded  over  his  letters,  and,  like  that 
Mother  blessed  above  women,  kept  his  sayings  in  her 
heart. 

Sometimes,  as  the  end  of  the  first  year  of  Jesse's 
disappearance  drew  nigh,  she  could  not  help  the  oft 
recurrence  of  a  thought  which  she  felt  wrong  in  har- 
bouring. If  Jesse  should  persist  in  staying  away — 
if  after  a  long  time  Amos  should  come  home — would 
Judith  ever  come  to  love  Amos  and  forget  Jesse  ? 

The  thought  came  :  but  Mistress  Bullen  drove  it 
from  her.  It  was  not  a  loyal  thought  for  her  to  have, 
who  should  cling  to  Jesse  as  his  betrothed  was  doing. 
So  she  reasoned. 

Poor  little  betrothed,  whose  face  had  grown  so 
changed  and  wan  ;  who  did  not  pick  up  with  sun  and 


328  TIN-KETTLING. 

warmth  as  her  father  hoped  she  would  :  who  still 
looked  out  for  the  mail-boy  day  by  day,  and  still 
day  by  day  was  left  uncomforted. 

It  was  cruel  of  Jesse,  very  cruel,  said  Mistress  Bul- 
len  now,  when  the  sad  eyes  of  Judith  haunted  her- 
It  was  not  what  she  would  do,  said  she  again,  if  she 
were  in  the  place  of  Jesse. 

So  the  year  passed  by,  and  once  again  the  leaves 
began  their  falling.  A  silence  fell  upon  the  name  of 
Jesse,  upon  the  subject  which  was  nearest  to  their 
lips.  For  what  use  was  it  to  speak  ?  Had  they  not 
said  everything  to  comfort  themselves  and  found  no 
comfort  ? 

And  then,  as  winter  came  on,  the  thought  that 
Mistress  Bullen  tried  to  banish  struggled  again  into 
existence,  Jesse  had  been  false,  had  forsaken  Judith. 
If  Amos  came  back,  if  Judith  little  by  little  could 
know  all,  would  she  not  be  brought  at  length  to  love 
him  .'*  Mistress  Bullen's  heart  leapt  when  she  thought 
of  it  ;  for  all  she  had  lost  her  eldest  born,  and  looked 
for  him  daily,  and  found  life  so  utterly  sad. 

One  night,  a  winter  night,  when  the  Parson  was 
in  his  study — and  he  was  much  given  to  sitting  alone 
there  now-a-days,  for  the  face  of  Judith  smote  him 
sorely — Mistress  liullen  sat  over  a  letter  to  her 
A'oungest  son. 


TIN-KETTLING.  329 

Over  the  fire,  an  open  book  upon  her  lap,  sat  Judith. 
But  her  eves  were  bevond  the  book,  fixed  on  the 
coals,  from  which  a  tiny  flame  was  spurting. 

"  Mother,"  said  she  suddenly  (she  had  learnt  to 
call  her  mother),  "  are  you  writing  to  Amos  ?" 

Mistress  Bullen  started,  and  the  more  when  in 
answer  to  her  "  Yes,"  Judith  went  on — 

"There's  no  chance  of  his  coming  home,  is  there? 
If  not,  mother,  will  you  send  him  a  message  from  me  ?' 

"Yes,  dear  heart"  (trying  to  be  calm  and  not  at 
all  astonished). 

"  Say  then,  mother — that  if  we  never  meet  again,  I 
hope  he  will  do  one  thing  for  me." 

"  Yes,  dear  heart." 

"  If  he  would  look  for  Jesse,  mother,  supposing" 
— and  her  voice  trembled — "  Jesse  should  not  come 
back  soon — not  before " 

"  Before  what  .''"  said  Mistress  Bullen,  coming  to- 
wards her  and  kneeling  down. 

"  Before  I  die,  mother,"  said  Mistress  Judith,  break- 
ing down  suddenly.  "  O  mother — I  know  I  can't  live 
long  now — not  very  long." 

"  My  darling,  my  darling  1 "  It  was  all  Mistress 
Bullen  could  say. 

"  Would  you  see  Amos  if  he  came  ?"  said  Mistress 
Buhen  presently. 


330  TIN-KETTLING. 

"  Oh  yes !  I  should  hke  to  see  him.  They  take  a 
long  time  going  out  there,  don't  they  ?  the  letters  I 
mean  ?  Would  he  come  home,  do  you  think,  mother* 
if  he  thought  I  was  dying?"  she  said  wistfully,  think- 
ing of  how  he  had  spurned  her  when  she  had  been 
in  health,  of  late  times,  and  how  he  might  refuse  to 
come  now. 

"  He  would  come  for  a  kind  word  from  you,  dear 
heart — he  would  come  if  it  would  comfort  you.  Would 
it.?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mistress  Judith  tearfully.  It  was  no 
time  now  to  think  if  Amos  had  been  unkind.  All 
that  must  be  forgotten  now.  If  he  could  come  home 
—  (and  he  had  only  talked  of  going  for  a  year  or 
two) — ah,  then,  if  Jesse  did  not  come,  she  could  leave 
a  message  with  Amos.  He  would  find  him  out  and 
bring  him  home. 

Just  then  the  Parson  came  in  :  the  Parson  who 
hated  scenes.  And  Mistress  Bullen  got  up,  and  with 
trembling  fingers  wrote  to  Amos. 

"  I  think  if  you  would  come  soon,  dear  son,  you 
might  be  a  comfort  to  her.  She  is  very  down-hearted, 
and  she  bid  me  ask  you  whether  you  would  come. 
She  is  very  sickly  this  winter,  but  nothing  to  fear.  I 
think,  knowing  how  it  all  has  been,  it  would  be  well 
for  vou  to  come." 


TIN-KETTLING.  33I 

Was  that  too  much  hope  for  him  ?  Mistress  BuUen 
hoped  not. 

She  did  not  hear  Judith  by  the  fire  saying  to  her- 
self, as  she  rocked  to  and  fro,  "Jesse's  brother!  my 
own  love's  brother  !  I  must  have  no  hard  thoughts 
of  him  now." 

Mistress  Judith  was  preparing  herself  for  Heaven. 
For,  though  others  did  not  know  it,  she  knew  that 
she  had  taken  many  steps  down  into  the  dark 
valley  where  her  mother  and  Master  Hurst  had  gone 
before. 


CHAPTER   XL. 


A  HOME-COMING. 


IT  was  fully  six  months  from  this  niglit  when 
Mistress  BuJlerl  and  Judith  sat  together  and 
talked  of  Amos — six  months  from  the  falling  of  those 
sad  leaves  which  had  buried  the  first  year  of  Jesse's 
absence  :  and  there  had  been  no  tidings  of  Jesse, 

Once  or  twice  the  Parson  thought  he  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  hope,  a  ray  of  possibility  ;  but  the  pale 
trace  had  always  waned  and  faded,  and  nothing  had 
come  of  it. 

Only  Judith  believed  that  Jesse  would  still  come, 
and  might  come  any  day.  As  for  the  Parson  and 
Mistress  Bullen  their  sorrow  had  almost  turned  to 
wrath.  For  that  some  message  had  reached  Jesse, 
at  the  further  ends  of  the  world  even,  was  certain.  He 
must  be  staying  away  willingly,  knowing  what  he  was 
causing  a  home  of  suffering,  and  too  cowardly  to 
face  his  people  again. 

And  there  was  Judith  failing  day  by  day,  growing 
whiter  and  thinner,  and  still  trying  to  be  calm  and 


A    HOME-COMING.  333 

patient,  not  to  trouble  any  one,  and  vexed  that  sh*^ 
was  so  sickly  and  ailing,  chiefly  because  it  was  a  cause 
of  grief  to  her  father  and  to  Jesse's  mother. 

She  did  not  steadily  decline  from  week  to  week 
and  month  to  month.  In  summer  her  cough  troubled 
her  less  ;  she  could  sit  out  in  the  garden  In  the  warm 
part  of  the  day,  and  look  at  her  roses. 

That  was  last  summer.  Here  was  April  round 
again,  and  Mistress  Bullen  looked  at  her  and  wondered 
whether  she  would  be  able  to  do  it  now,  when  warm 
days  should  come  round. 

And  she  could  not  help  doubting,  for  of  late  there 
had  been  a  marked  change.  Instead  of  the  restless- 
ness of  her  first  days  of  sorrow,  Judith  sank  into  a 
state  of  apathy  at  times,  when  it  seemed  impossible 
to  arouse  her  to  interest.  But  sometimes  when  trying 
would  fail  entirely,  of  her  own  free  will  she  would  get 
up  from  her  sofa  suddenly,  seeing  her  father  or  Mis- 
tress Bullen  looking  sad,  and  atone  as  best  she  could 
for  what  seemed  to  her  great  selfishness  and  want  of 
thought  for  them. 

To-day,  as  Mistress  Bullen  sat  silently  knitting  by 
Judith's  sofa,  the  warm  April  sun  came  flooding  over 
them  through  the  poplars,  just  powdered  over  with 
their  first  yellow  green. 

The  window  was  open,  and  the  fresh  sweet  smell 


334  A    HOME-COMING. 

from  the  awakening  garden  was  wafting  in  upon  Mis- 
tress Judith  as  she  lay. 

It  brought  back  to  her  all  too  plainly  those  days 
of  spring  when  she  and  her  betrothed  had  gone  hand 
in  hand  through  the  woods  together,  gathering  prim- 
roses that  had  filled  and  overflowed  her  basket,  and 
that  were  what  no  earthly  primroses  could  ever  be 
again.  For  if  Jesse  came  back,  if  they  were  married 
before  another  spring  came  round,  and  if  they  went 
again  to  Primrose-Spinney  (and  here  Mistress  Judith 
unconsciously  moved  her  foot  to  see  whether  indeed 
she  could  ever  get  to  Primrose-Spinney  again,  and 
her  heart  fell,  seeing  how  heavy  and  powerless  it  was), 
still  never  again  could  she  be  what  she  had  been  that 
day  when  Jesse  in  her  eyes  was  just  and  true,  and 
she  knew  nothing  of  sin  except  in  Paxton  Dick,  and 
when  she  had  given  that  promise  that  seemed  to  her 
as  binding  as  any  marriage  vow  could  be — 

"  Whatever  happens  I  will  never  forsake  you,  Jesse, 
neither  in  this  world,  nor  in  the  world  to  come." 

Lying  on  her  sofa  to  day,  the  wreck  of  what  she 
had  been  once,  and  brought  so  low  by  the  sins  of 
Jesse,  Judith  clasped  her  hands  and  said  to  herself, 
"Amen." 

"  Did  you  speak,  dear  heart  ?"  said  Mistress  Bullen. 

"No,  mother." 


A    HOME-COMING.  335 

"If  you  knew  how  it  comforts  me  to  hear  you  call 
me  that,"  said  Mistress  BuUen,  her  voice  trembhng  a 
good  deal,  as  she  knitted  faster.  She  wanted  to  say 
something,  and  did  not  know  how  to  say  it.  She 
had  caught  at  the  first  straw,  and  now  kept  silence 
not  knowing  how  to  speak  further. 

"Dear  heart,"  srid  she  at  length,  summoning  up 
her  courage — "  do  you  ever  think  what  it  will  be  if 
Jesse  bides  away,  and  forsakes  you  altogether  ?— do 
you  ever  think  that  if  one  who  had  loved  you  longer, 

and  loved  you  truer,  were  to  come " 

Judith  had  started  up  from  her  pillow;  she  was 
leaning  forward  now  and  bending  down  her  ear  to- 
wards the  window. 

"  Hold  your  peace,"  she  said,  "he  won't  bide  away 

for  ever.      I  hear  him   at   the   door.     I   heard  his 

step,  I  know." 

"  Dear  heart,  have  patience,"  said  Mistress  Bullen, 
trying  to  lay  Judith's   head    back   upon   the   pillow. 
"  You  've  so  often  thought  it  was  he  before  to-day." 

"  Gen'lcman  asking  for  Mistress  Bullen,"  said  Ruth 
in  an  agitated  whisper  at  the  door. 

Mistress  Bullen  moved  to  the  door,  held  it  open  a 
moment  and  looked  out.  But  before  she  could  speak 
or  stop  him,  some  one  had  pushed  past  her  into  the 
room. 


336  A    HOME-COMING. 

With  white  face  and  eyes  large  with  a  sorrowful 
wild  intensit}'  of  expectation,  Mistress  Judith  had  sat 
upright  on  her  sofa,  holding  the  wrapper  that  was 
over  her  with  thin  clenched  hands. 

At  the  sound  of  footsteps  she  spread  out  her  white 
arms,  gave  a  low  moan  of  stifled  joy,  then  with  a  loud 
cry  of  triumph — 

"And  you  have  come  ! — my  Jesse  ! — my  own  love  ! 
And  they  said  you- would  forsake  me " 

But  Mistress  Judith's  head  sank  back  upon  the 
pillow,  and  the  cry  of  triumph  changed  suddenly  to 
a  wail  of  pain. 

For  there,  within  reach  of  her  outspread  arms,  watch- 
ing the  horror  of  disappointment  that  had  come  upon 
her  face,  hearing  the  words  that  would  have  greeted 
another,  stood  Amos,  with  the  low  wail  of  pain  that 
was  his  greeting  ringing  in  his  ears. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 


THE   END. 


AND  now,  from  day  to  day  and  hour  to  hour, 
the  strength  of  Mistress   Judith   waned  and 
passed. 

First  of  all  sJie  knew  it :  knew  that  before  many 
months  had  gone  HasHngton  folk  would  be  carrying 
her  across  the  garden,  as  they  had  carried  Master 
Hurst. 

That  was  long  ago — long  months  ago.  But  next 
Haslington  folk  knew  it,  after  Amos  had  come  home. 
They  were  good  judges :  they  read  in  his  face  that 
there  was  no  hope  that  Mistress  Judith  would  ever 
cross  their  doors  again. 

And  last  of  all,  the  Parson  knew  it.  It  was  a  long 
time  travelling  to  his  brain.  She  had  sickened,  she 
was  ill — she  had  never  been  so  before ;  but  die ! — 
was  it  possible  .''  said  the  Parson — could  he  live,  live 
on  perhaps  for  long  years,  and  Judith  die ! 

But  at  last  he  too  believed  it.  For  as  the  summer 
days   drew   on,  there   came   no   summer  to   Mistress 


338  THE    END. 

Judith.  Only  into  her  face  there  came  a  look  that 
carried  the  truth  straight  and  fast  to  the  Parson's 
heart.  It  was  the  look  Judith's  mother  had  worn 
when  death  was  laying  his  hand  upon  her.  The  like- 
ness had  been  faint  before  between  the  mother  and 
the  child.  But  now  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  went 
off  in  his  own  fashion  into  misty  dreams,  he  often 
wandered  back  into  his  life,  lived  twenty  years  ago 
again,  saw  Juditli  lying  in  the  nurse's  arms,  felt  the 
old  blank  come  back  upon  him,  missed  woman's  hands 
about  his  study  table — and  then  awoke  :  awoke  to 
find  Judith  his  daughter  lying  by  him;  his  daughter 
who  would  never  be  bride  to  any  one  but  Death. 

And  already  the  old  blank  v/as  coming,  in  strange 
new  reality :  and  once  again  about  his  study  table  he 
missed  a  dear  woman's  ways  and  fingers.  No  scissors 
now  agape  upon  the  Plato — no  thread  entangled  all 
about  his  feet.  For  only  her  own  room  with  the 
lattice  window  saw  Mistress  Judith  now. 

Haslington  "  Feast "  came  again  and  went :  and  it 
was  two  days  after,  while  roses  and  honeysuckle  and 
all  June  flowers  were  blowing  that  the  news  went  out 
in  all  the  village  that  Mistress  Judith  was  "  drawing 
off  to  death." 

Mistress  Hurst  ran  out  across  the  way  earlier  than 
on  other  days.     She  had  kept  watch  off  and  on  for 


THE    END.  339 

long  weeks  past :  she  and  Mistress  Bullen,  Ruth,  the 
Parson,  and  Amos. 

.When  one  was  tired  out  with  watching  or  with 
nursing,  another  came,  and  the  place  at  the  sickbed 
was  never  empty.  And  foremost  among  them  all, 
always  ready  to  go  a  message,  to  read,  to  bring  Mis- 
tress Judith  flowers,  was  Amos. 

"  You  should  tell  her,  dear  son,"  said  Mistress  Bul- 
len  one  day,  when  Judith  seemed  rallying  a  little. 
**  Tell  her  how  long  you  loved  her — and  how  true " 

But  "  Oh,  mother,  mother ! "  was  Amos's  only 
answer.  That  wail  of  pain,  that  look  that  met  him 
when  he  first  came  home — how  ^ould  they  be  for- 
gotten .<*  His  love  !  what  was  that  to  Mistress  Judith, 
who  loved  Jesse,  who  had  given  Jesse  her  promise 
long  ago  :  and  who  was  passing  now  beyond  all  earthly 
loves  and  promises  .-* 

So,  waiting  upon  her,  and  blessing  God  that  he 
could  be  near  her  now  who  had  so  long  been  driven 
from  her,  Amos  held  his  peace. 

It  was  hard  enough  sometimes.  Once,  when  it 
seemed  to  come  across  her,  that  in  her  grief  at  not 
finding  Jesse  standing  there  beside  her,  she  might 
have  wounded  Amos — she  called  him  to  her,  and 
said,  holding  out  her  hand — 

"  I'm  very  hard  on  you  and  all  here,  Amos.   Trouble 


340  THE    END. 


has  made  me  think  too  much  about  myself.  I  've 
often  grieved  since,  thinking  how  much  1  hurt  you 
when  I  cried  for  pain,  thinking  it  was  Jesse  coming 
through  the  door.  But  it  was  not  that  I  was  vexed 
to  see  you,  Amos — you  won't  think  that,  will  you  ? 
Because,  though  there  was  a  strange  coldness  be- 
tween us  for  a  long  while,  and  I  took  it  very 
much  to  heart  at  first,  when  you  never  came  to 
see  me — what  is  it,  Amos  ? — were  you  going  to 
speak  ? — Well,  wait  a  minute  because  my  breath  s 
very  short  to-day— it 's  been  so  since  the  last  cold  I 
took.  And  get  up,  Amos,  don't  kneel  upon  the  hard 
floor  and  look  so  strange — you  don't  feel  ill,  do  you, 
Amos?— Ah,  I  was  going  to  say  that,  spite  of  all 
that,  I  feel  it 's  all  passed  by,  and  that  you  had  some 
good  reason  to  be  angry  with  me.  Don't  stop  me, 
Amos,  because  I  can't  speak  much  longer,  and  it 
lies  so  at  my  heart,  I  want  to  speak  it  out.  And  I 
want  to  say  T  love  you— as  my  dear  brother,  Amos— 
.  as  my  dear  love's  brother— and  he  and  I  are  one, 
you  know.  I  gave  him  my  promise  that  I  would 
never  forsake  him  come  what  might.  Vou  think 
I'm  right,  Amos.  You  wouldn't  think  it  right  for 
me  to  give  him  up,  would  you  ?  Nor  the  thought  of 
liim  >  even  now,  when  I  'm  going  so  fast  ?" 


THE    END.  341 

So  at  last  the  end  came.  There  they  stood  round 
her,  that  sad  company,  watching  her  breathing,  that 
had  been  quick  and  laboured  all  the  night. 

Mistress  Hurst  sat  upon  the  end  of  the  bed,  wiping 
her  eyes  with  her  black  apron, 

"  Don't  cry,  Mistress  Hurst,"  said  Judith.  "  You  're 
used  to  people  going  away  like  this.  You  know 
when  Master  Hurst  went,  father  told  us — he  only 
went  for  a  long  journey.  I  'm  going  a  journey  too — 
only  I  think  I  'm  half-way  through  the  journey — it 
won't  be  so  long  for  me — I  've  been  a  great  while  on 
the  road.  And,  mother — you  mustn't  cry  much  after 
I  'm  gone.  I  know  you  keep  back  your  tears  for 
the  sake  of  me.  Mother — I  would  like  to  speak  to 
Amos — is  Amos  here  ?  " 

"  He  is  outside  the  door,  dear  heart — shall  I  bid 
him  come  in  ?" 

She  nodded  assent. 

Then  she  wandered.  And  Amos,  gaunt  and  pale, 
stood  waiting  beside  her. 

For  a  long  time  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  ceil- 
ing. Now  and  then  she  frowned  with  a  pained  look, 
as  if  she  saw,  and  wanted  to  see  more  clearly.  At 
last,  turning  her  head  restlessly,  she  looked  at  Amos. 
When  she  recognised  him,  she  burst  into  tears. 

Then    she    grew    calm    again.       Mistress    Bullen 


342  THE    END. 

took  a  handkerchief,  and  wiped  the  tears  from  her 
cheeks. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  very  feebly,  and  then  they 
heard  her  say  "  Amos  !  " 

He  stooped  down  and  put  his  ear  close  to  her  mouth. 

"  You  '11  see  him — by  and  by — and  bring  him  home. 
You  '11  tell  him  I  was  very  true  to  him.  You'll  bid 
him  pray  to  Jesus — to  forgive " 

Then  her  breath  failed,  but  after  a  moment,  with  a 
struggle,  she  said — 

"  You  '11  not  be  hard  on  him — dont  let  folk  say  he 
killed  me — it 's  not  true,  it 's  not  true — I  want " 

And  tlien  there  was  a  silence  that  was  never 
broken. 

Once  she  looked  round,  as  for  some  one.  Her 
father  came  nearer  and  held  her  hand.  But  he 
had  no  words,  and  it  was  Mistress  Bullen  who  said 
calmly — 

"  You  '11  meet  him  in  Heaven,  dear  heart.  Are  you 
happy  now,  sweet  love  .'' " 

She  had  fixed  her  eyes  on  her  father,  with  a 
beautiful  quiet  smile.  It  was  all  the  answer  they 
wanted.  And  after  an  instant  she  looked  up,  high 
above  their  heads,  and  her  lips  moved. 

"  Do  you  sec  anything,  dear  heart  ?"  asked  Mistress 
Bullen  softly. 


THE    END.  343 

"  Some  one — in  white "  And  the  smile  deep- 
ened and  overflowed  her  eyes  that  had  already  taken 
their  first  look  into  the  valley  that  is  called  Dark. 

Mistress  Hurst  leaned  forward,  staying  her  sobs. 

"  Was  it  like  the  blessed  Saviour,  my  dear — all 
shining  and  glorious,  and  that  ? " 

But  from  Mistress  Judith  came  no  answer.  The 
some  one  in  white  had  taken  her  away. 


Two  years  after,  on  a  winter  night,  came  a  knock 
at  the  door  of  Trotter's  End 

The  Parson,  Mistress  Bullen,  and  Amos  were  sitting 
round  the  fire :  for  Trotter's  End  was  home  to  them 
all  now. 

They  got  up,  drew  the  curtain,  undid  the  shutter, 
and  looked  out. 

In  the  light  that  streamed  from  the  window  they 
could  see  a  man  standing  in  the  rain. 

At  the  sight  of  faces  at  the  window  he  moved  back. 
But  they  had  all  seen  his  face. 

And  it  was  Amos  who  went  out  and  opened  the  door. 

"  Have  I  atoned,  brother?"  asked  Jesse's  voice,  be- 
fore he  would  come  a  step  further,  "  Is  she  yours  now, 
lad  }  God  knows  I  've  given  you  time — surely,  I  've 
given  you  time !" 


344  THE    END. 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other — dark  shadows, 
half  lighted  by  the  pale  flood  from  the  open  door. 
There  was  a  long  silence.     Then  Amos  said, — 

"  And  tJiat  was  why  you  bode  away  .-'" 

"  Why  else,  lad  ;  why  else  .''  It  was  the  least  I  could 
do — to  set  her  free — and  leave  her  for  you,  lad." 

There  was  another  long  silence,  longer  than  the  last 

"  But  she  died,"  said  Amos. 

And  then  he  drew  Jesse  in,  and  closed  the  door. 


THE  END.l 


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LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


MISTRESS  JUDITH 


BY 


FR  ASER-T  YTLE  R 


Henry  HoLT&Co.PuBLisHE 


New  York 


